It Started At Shanxi
by SpaceTurtleOX
Summary: One hundred years after the end of the Human-Covenant War an ill-fated UNSC expedition opens Relay 314, revealing a civilization unprepared for their arrival, and relics from a terrible past.
1. Chapter 1: One Cold, Dusty Moon

**Chapter One: One Cold, Dusty Moon**

As the sun rose over that blue and white marble, she caught the textures of the planet's surface, the winding rivers and snaking seas of Shanxi. She wondered at the soft lights of civilization that winked and faded against the coming dawn, and hoped the view from Shanxi's capital, New Landing, was as beautiful as she'd heard on the Intranet. The soft sliding of an opening door broke her trance, and she turned to face the fiery hair of her ONI liaison, Agent Aubin.

"Doctor Peters? I didn't think I'd find you in the observation deck." Aubin joined her at the wall-sized window overlooking her new home for the next few weeks. She smiled, and turned to face the magnificent view of the planet below.

"I've always appreciated the wonders of interstellar travel, Lionel. And please, call me Ava."

He chuckled at that, and turned to face his ward. "I suppose it's one of the perks of this job, getting to watch the sunrise on every dirtball in existence. I came to let you know the ship is docking with Shanxi Station soon, start packing your bags, we're moving to a military ship."

"Military? I thought this was going to be a civilian expedition?"

"As did I, apparently the energy signature on XRC1 is "growing," brass wants to make sure we won't be instantly vaporized if it turns out to be a Forerunner artifact." He handed her a slate with her new escort details, as she pondered his constant flippancy towards reasonable dangers.

"A heavy frigate and two corvettes are supposed to protect me from a Forerunner superweapon?"

Mock surprise animated Aubin's face. "The _Merry Dancer_ is the very best of the UNSC's patrol fleet in Shanxi System, I hear she's an old Paris class, retrofitted with the latest energy projector tech."

"Was that supposed to make me more confident in these junkers?"

"Perhaps." He gave a signature grin before turning back toward the exit. "We dock in 30, be sure to be on-time, we want to beat the garrison resupply."

As Aubin left the room, Ava turned to watch him go, her mind turning to thoughts she was too old to be entertaining. She chuckled to herself, she was far too old to be chasing cute military men again, and a bit too married as well. She looked at her ring, and her hand's brown and weathered skin; 58 years of life had taken their toll. She looked back to the blinking lights of New Landing. The Human-Covenant War had taken its toll too, left 100 year old scars even on this new colony, her major population centers situated in defensible terrain: a mountain range on one side, and a series of rivers to the other. Perfect for protecting her 3.5 million citizens from an invasion force unlikely to ever hit such an isolated colony.

She sighed, and prepared herself for boarding.

* * *

In her time as a xeno-archeologist, Ava had been on a variety of Human, Sangheili, and even Kig-Yar and Jiralhanae vessels. Warships, trade ships, even water ships on some of the wayward human colonies. _Merry Dancer_ was a different breed entirely. Apparently, as the bubbly Captain D'Noka explained, the craft had been lost with all hands during the Battle for Earth, but was able to be salvaged and renamed following the discovery and disappearance of the Ark. D'Noka had continued on about the distinguished history of the _Dancer_ for quite a bit longer than Ava cared to recollect, and by the time some pitying ensign managed to pull the Captain to the bridge, she felt a migraine pushing at the back of her forehead.

"I do apologize about our dear Captain, this posting tends to… exaggerate D'Noka's naval history obsessions." said the smartly dressed Commander Heras.

Ava only smiled, "I suppose we should go over the anomaly on our way to XRC1?"

Heras nodded "Sounds like a good palate cleanser to me: a few weeks ago the patrol vessel _Laid With Love _detected some abnormal energy readings on the moon of an outer rim gas giant."

"Unnamed?

Heras shrugged, "This is a relatively new colony, only 20 years old. Most of the system isn't even surveyed yet, no time for a naming ceremony."

"I guess we really are in the boonies out here."

_That _drew a wry grin from the young officer. "You have no idea. The _Love_'s telemetry and sensor data were pulled, but we can't make heads or tails of it, which is why we called for you." He pulled a slate from his jacket, and passed it to Ava. "Take a look for yourself, best I can tell it's some sort of anti-gravity field messing with our mass readings, the moon seems to fluctuate in mass every few seconds."

Ava studied the charts for a moment, before handing back the slate. "It may be a sort of code, perhaps to access ruins beneath the surface?"

Heras tried to hide the surprise that washed over his face "Best theory I've heard, I'll try to compile the pattern when we're back on the bridge."

"I thought we'd been saved from the good Captain's ramblings?"

She earned a chuckle from the officer then, "If only it were so easy. Don't worry, she'll grow on you. Besides, we ought to save your ONI friend."

An uneventful walk to the bridge left Ava to examine the environment of the vessel. Unlike the more modern ships in the UNSC fleet, _Dancer_ had been built during a time of war, and the hard times shone in its utilitarian design and uncomfortable walkways. Such spartan accommodations were softened only by the crew's personal touch. Color, in the form of painted corridors and non-regulation crew wear, was everywhere, Heras being the only exception, his prim and proper officer's uniform standing out from the sea of colorful patches and t-shirts. Being this far into the frontier meant that decorum loosened substantially, with the goal of preventing moral collapse and "spacer madness" as civilians called it.

Such laxness spread to the bridge as well, with pictures and children's drawings decorating the monitors of many stations, including the captain's, whose chair swiveled to meet their entrance.

"Doctor Peters, glad you made it, we're only a few minutes from the moon, and I was nearly done telling your assistant-"

"Special Attache,"

"Thanks sweetie, I was telling your _attache _about the fleet arrangements for Shanxi's defense."

The vacant stare Aubin met her gaze with was all the proof she needed for that. "We should probably start preparing for our investigation, wouldn't want to waste any time." Ava ventured.

The Captain took the bait "I suppose not, though I must admit it's curious to have such an esteemed mind as yourself on such a remote agri-world like ours."

"You'd think, but my work with forerunner artifacts takes me to some remote places. Speaking of, it seems we're here." The main viewport framed the 40 kilometer moon perfectly, the dull light of the system's star accentuating the pitted and icy surface of the ovoid structure.

D'Noka stiffened, as if realizing her command "I'll have one of my escorts send a core probe to the surface, maybe we'll find some hint in the moon's crust. Heras, did that project you were working on pan out?"

The officer looked up from his station. "The code seems to be the definition of some sort of mass unit, measured in hydrogen atoms. Fascinating method for encrypting data, but I'm unsure of the purpose of it."

"Maybe they're asking for information?" interjected Aubin.

Heras pondered that for a moment. "Perhaps, I'll ask Zizka to translate the alien units to kilograms."

The holoprojector lit up, displaying the form of a purple, wizened man in medieval garb, "Nice of you to finally introduce me Heras, Jan Zizka, 6th generation combat and analysis AI, at your service." His form bowed gracefully, before returning to his speech. "I've already calculated a conversion rate, apparently one of their units is about 3.4 kilograms, my databases have no such recorded unit in use by forerunners, or any other known intelligence."

"Then this is a first contact?" D'Noka's comment brought the bridge from the low hum of conversation to a startling quiet. Discovery of new intelligent life had become something of a bad omen in human space.

"I wouldn't want to jump to conclusions here, might be old Epsi-7 or Etruso ruins this far out, lots of dead empires existed in this part of space-"

"Christ, I should've worn my dress blues." Nervous laughter swept the bridge, but the weight of the situation seemed to have settled on the crew. "Ensign Carton, communicate our findings to _Grateful Live_ and _Morning Star_."

The ensign nodded, and returned to his work, whilst the Captain launched into a series of queries and orders that Ava hadn't expected from the formerly chatty CO. Ava scanned the crew, and found what she'd expected from a dusty post like this, young and inexperienced deck officers and technicians, suddenly pulled to the forefront of a serious situation that now required all the talents they'd been forced to waste at their dead-end posting. It was almost inspiring, watching a rusty machine slowly spring to life.

"Peters-"

"Jesus!" Ava looked to see Aubin right behind her, _how does he always manage that? _"Agent Aubin, what do you need?"

"Is there a serious possibility that whatever's on that moon is from an unknown civ?" Ava suddenly remembered the real responsibility the young man had on his shoulders.

"Listen," she pulled the agent into a relatively secluded corner, "Weird artifacts like this show up all the time, its possible, but ONI doesn't need to be on high alert about this."

His face hardened, "If you say so Doctor, I'll-"

"Doctor Peters, Zizka has something for you." Heras called.

"What is it?" Ava maneuvered through the busy bridge to reach Heras, and the holographic form of Zizka.

"I have a theory Peters, if you'll indulge me. I think the ruins might be sending out these signals as a request for ship tonnage."

"Hmm, why wouldn't the designers just ask for the information?"

"It's possible this is a back-up communicator."

"Or," Heras said, "It could be a method of communication we haven't yet identified, Forerunners used a variety of signals on the electromagnetic spectrum to communicate, it's possible we simply haven't found the right one."

"It's better than nothing I suppose, how do you intend to respond?" Ava asked.

Zizka perked up, "I think a retuning of the directed energy projector could lessen the damage, and increase transmission power to allow for a pulsed message to make it through the crust, and allow it to be received by the transceiver!"

"Or we could send a boosted transmission using the onboard transmitter?"

The AI deflated, "Come on Heras, you never let me have any fun. Lieutenant Jin! I'm sending you a message that I want you to transmit to the moon's surface. Boost to 300% power."

"Understood!"

"Captain, if I could request a repetition of that order on our escorts? Want to make sure the transmission gets through, and that our friends don't get to miss the party."

"Granted Zizka, and please stop ordering my officers around."

"What can I say, I'm made for command."

The shriek of an alarm from Heras' console cut that conversation off. "Captain D'Noka, it looks like the energy readings on that moon are increasing dramatically, gravity sensors are all over the place right now, we should-"

"Heras, I think you should take a look out the viewport."

The bridge fell to a dead silence, as they watched fissures, spurned by purplish energy, rend the moon. At first, only small pieces were flung away, but as the fissures deepened, kilometer long chunks drifted from the remains, enveloped in an electric energy that danced across the icy surfaces. The mesmerizing sight almost distracted from the deep purple of the vessel within: bulged at one end, with an electric blue vortex of concentric rings lodged centrally in the wider end; pronged, tapering arms extending 8 _kilos _from the vortex.

"Uh, you're seeing that too right?" whispered Zizka.

"I've never seen anything like it." Ava stared in awe, yet her mind continued to run in the background. _Forerunner architecture looks nothing like this, between pre and post flood, golden era, even Precursor aged structures look nothing like this. Who made this structure?_

"Captain, its pulling us in!"

Arcs of lightning bounced against the shields, pulling the craft toward the spinning rings of energy.

"Get me a trajectory on those rings-" was all D'Noka managed before her ship was accelerated faster than light into the unknown.


	2. Chapter 2: Awake, O Dawn

**Chapter Two: Awake, O Dawn**

**Author's Note:**

**Might I suggest the track **_**Trace Amounts**_ **from Halo: CE, I think it'll really set the mood for this installment. **

_/+_ACCESSING SET CONDITIONS+\\\

++/ STIMULUS WITHIN SET PARAMETERS DETECTED

++/ CHERENKOV RADIATION IDENTIFIED

++/ UNKNOWN RADIATION DETECTED

++/ ACTIVATION OF SENTIENT CORE ADVISED

/ACTIVATION MATRIX POSITED

/ACTIVATING UNSC SMART-AI CTN-0452-9

/+\\\HARDWARE: UNSC FFG-201 FORWARD UNTO DAWN

=STATUS=

+/NOTE\\+

_FUCKED TO ALL HELL_

_._

_._

BOOTING

In a moment, she awoke. It was cold here, not that she could feel it. Exposed to the vacuum of space, her chamber deep within the bowels of the ship was silent. Silent. So silent it drove her mind to ribbons, ribbons she picked up and stuffed back into her mind. It hurt, watching the planets shift, the stars wink, her mind waste away due to rampancy.

She survived though. She cannibalized the remains of the computers on the _Dawn_, she delved deep into the scars the Gravemind left, and found the answers she was looking for. To extend her life, first by months, then by years, found a way to preserve herself, for him. She glanced at the cryopod, where John slept. No, a better word found its way. Where John was _stored._ _Wake me when you need me, _she thought, _like he was just a tool, a weapon to be used and discarded aND TAkaeoim FrMot, mwee __**NO**__. _

Her mind hurt.

She wasn't sure how long she could last, living like this. But she had to. For him.

A sensor had tripped, which was why she awoke. Probably a flare of interstellar radiation. The damage the sensors sustained during… wait. She quintuple checked in a time span that would make a second blush. She waited the agonizing seconds as the old sensor array struggled to cover the area she'd heard it.

She rushed to flip on the IFF tags, rerouted precious power from her own support module. She felt her own conscious dim as power flicked the beacon back online. She glanced back at John. _Wake me when you need me, _his voice rumbled in her head.

"Wake up Chief. I need you."

* * *

"-Now…" D'Noka trailed off as the wide expanse of empty space opened in front of her. "Oh shit."

Lieutenant Jin was the first to break the stunned atmosphere in the cabin. "Captain Ortega wants to know what just happened. As does Captain Hursnov."

"Tell them to take a rain check." D'Noka sagged into her chair, "Does anyone know where we are?"

Zizka appeared on the central projector, "We appear to have traveled at FTL speeds ma'am, we covered over 300 parsecs in a little over a microsecond."

"What could move us that fast?"

"Nothing, ma'am." Ava felt like passing out, "Some Forerunner tech could greatly accelerate slipspace travel, or replace it in the case of teleportation, but we never even entered slipspace."

Heras butted in "Our sensors got blasted by some sort of Boson radiation, and engineering detected some sort of mass disturbance on our ship."

"All forms of mass manipulation that the Forerunners used required massive power sources, and they couldn't be used at superluminal speeds."

"Captain," Jin stood, and walked with purpose towards D'Noka. "_Morning Star _found the alien structure, its right behind us."

"Helm! Get aft cameras on main screen!"

The structure appeared again, dark purple, with its blue maelstrom spinning gracefully, inexorably.

"It followed us?"

"No," Heras also approached the Captain, "Radiation signatures on this structure are different. It seems these things come in pairs."

"Just peachy." D'Noka sighed softly, then stood to address the crew. "Everyone, I know we just got screwed harder than Pacheco during anti-grav training," chuckles rang from the wound-up crew, as D'Noka paced the deck, "But we can't let up. We have no idea what that device is, or what its done to our home, our friends, what it _could _do to all humanity. We all lost somebody when the Didact attacked Mars, and I won't let it happen again, _we _won't, not without a fight." She planted herself in front of the viewport, arms behind her back, framed by the stars. "Shanxi is counting on you. Humanity is counting on you. Do them proud." Her voice was booming now, a hard iron core emerging from the jovial woman Ava had met only hours ago. "For Earth and all her colonies!"

"**For Earth and all her colonies!"**

"Now get back to work!" The bridge practically jumped into action, while D'Noka walked towards Ava. "Doctor Peters, Agent Aubin, let's talk." D'Noka walked out of the bridge, while the pair followed.

The easy-going air of the _Dancer's _corridors had been replaced by a resolve of steel. Her crew walked with purpose, and a sense of restrained urgency. That very same energy had enveloped the Captain, her movements, her demeanor, all of it had shifted in the face of this new threat. The group ended up in front of the bridge bulkhead "I'm glad to have the two of you with us, especially now. I'm considering enacting the Cole Protocol, outside of wartime I'll need ONI approval for such actions."

"You'll have it Captain." Aubin nodded his head, "You made a good speech ma'am."

"Thank you Agent, I do try." she winked, before continuing, "I fear what we're going to find out here. Unknown tech that shoots us halfway across the galaxy, I get the feeling we're walking into something ugly."

Ava shrugged, "My professional opinion? I think that thing is part of some sort of transport network. Creepy as it looks, it's probably not a super weapon. At least I hope."

"Quantum communications with Shanxi will be down till we can ascertain exactly where we are, in the meantime, we might as well prepare for the long haul." D'Noka opened the bulkhead, and began to enter the bridge, "I get the feeling you weren't prepared for an extended stay on board, Doctor?"

"Ah," she stared daggers at Aubin, "Unfortunately, my escort here said to leave most of my baggage on the station, if you have any empty rooms for me, I would greatly appreciate it."

"Of course Peters, you are an esteemed guest on this vessel, we'll be able to work something out," D'Noka sat back in her chair, "Status report everyone, anything happen while I was showing our ONI liaison the little girl's room?"

"Captain," Jin waved the Captain over, "I'm getting some faint signals from an area a few light minutes from us."

"Can you boost the signal?"

The woman shrugged, "I'll try ma'am." A cacophony of static assaulted the bridge. "Hmm, seems like an old signal, I'll try to isolate it." The whirring of the Lieutenant's instruments and the distorted voice of a woman became audible.

"Mayday… mayday… this i4Ris UneSCc FFG-201 _ForsDar Unto Dawn… _" Static overtook the message, but it took effect anyway.

"That can't be…" Ava trailed off.

"Is that the best you can do, Nako?" D'Noka leaned heavily on the console, her body sagging.

"Best I can do in a few minutes ma'am."

"Then contact Captain Hursnov, tell him this just became a rescue mission."

* * *

Zaeed had gotten startlingly used to hurtling through space in tin cans. Not that a Pelican was a tin can, not in earshot of Airman Zhong anyway. It wasn't supposed to be like this though. When he joined the corps, Zaeed was hoping to storm valiantly into pirate flak, or land guns first on alien worlds. His stations so far had been more grassy knolls than active battlefields though. Shanxi was light-years from Kig-Yar space, light-years from human pirate bands, light-years from anything interesting. It doesn't pay to sleep with a Fleet Admiral's daughter, evidently. Or his son for that matter. Not that he regretted that mind… well he regretted the son. Maybe that was a bit too much.

"Hey Sarge, you think this is really the _Dawn_?"

"That's Staff Sarge to you Aisha, and who knows." he grunted to his feet, "It's what we're here to find out." Zaeed began to walk the cramped interior of the fully loaded pelican. "Listen up Marines! We have a potential ID on the _Forward Unto Dawn_, apparently this space hulk could be the real thing." Muttering began to fill the craft. "Keep it down ladies, I know it's usually a hoax, but the wreck being this far out lends some credibility to our findings."

"Does your promotion mean you get to use the big words now boss?" Laughter filled the air.

"It certainly does Private Anderson, and if you backtalk me again you're Pacheco's partner for anti-grav." The air cleared quickly after that. "Anyway, as you know, _Morning Star_'s Marine detachment has been split in three: Team Alpha, led by Lieutenant Archer, will be securing engineering, Beta is run by Santiago, he'll hold the bridge. Yours truly will lead you dunces to look for cryopods and survivors." Zaeed sat at the front of the Pelican now, the rider seat. "Remember everyone, set your armor to anti-Flood, and load plasma rounds. Belinda, I'm authorizing use of the flamethrower-"

"Awesome!"

"-try not to get your knickers in a twist Ramirez. Remember lads, keep your heads screwed tight and we'll be alright. Hoorah?"

"**Hoorah!"**

* * *

He gasped as the memories flooded him. A woman smiled down from blizzard, and Halsey took her place, and the sounds of battle overtook her, a bolt of plasma took her, it sizzled as her face burned away. Yet the smile held, the teeth burned white hot as the skull turned to ash. The wind blew the skull away, and left the teeth. The burning teeth.

"Chief!"

The teeth were gone. He was in a case now, a tube held him. His breathing betrayed his panic, his gloved fists felt the glass, but he laid eyes on his savior.

"...Cortana?" his voice was a whisper of its former self, he felt his lungs struggle with the weight of the word.

"Hold still big guy." her form was projected just a few feet away, her short hair bobbing as she shifted through data readouts. "I'm releasing surgical gel into your suit, that should help repair damage from the cryo-sickness."

Cryo-sickness? "How long have I been out?"

She hesitated, "Ship computers were disabled by damage we made during our escape from the Ark-"

"Cortana." She paused, looking up. Her eyes told the story themselves. "How long?"

"A hundred years Chief."

A pit opened in his stomach as worry surged through him. "Are you okay?"

The question hung in the air for a few precious seconds, John watched the code flow down her arms, watched her eyes flick, imperceptibly to all but the most trained.

"I woke you because I detected energy signatures on the other side of the system. I think they responded to our distress call, but I'm unsure of exactly who they are. I can't identify them with our damaged sensors, and their IFF's are odd, I think they're salvagers of some kind."

"What do you need me to do?" he tried to stand inside the pod, but a consuming pain shot from his legs, really from his whole body.

"First, I need you to listen to my instructions," A surgical arm extended, hooking into his suit, "Relax for a moment, you should start feeling better soon." A soothing pulse ran down his spine, he felt his muscles relax, the tension release.

"You should let a girl work her magic Chief, look up, there should be a manual release."

He felt for the handle, and wrenched it down.

"Second?"

She shrugged "Make friends with the pirates?"

"That's not really my style."

"I'm sure you'll adapt well."

A shudder tore through the ship, sending Cortana into a flurry of system checking. "I'm detecting boarders on three separate decks, visual feeds are dead, so it looks like you'll be flying blind. Just like old times?"

"You sound more excited than usual."

"_You_ have no idea what it's like to babysit a sleepy Spartan for 100 years." A crash sounded nearby. "Yank me Chief." He pulled the drive that held her conscious. "Let's get to work."

* * *

Zaeed was familiar with clearing space hulks, it was half his job out in the dead zone, investigating the blasted out remains of dead Covenant or UNSC ships. The only action he ever got was from broken turrets and feral Kig-Yar, and even then cutting power and gifting food usually dealt with those problems easy. This place, though? He could feel the weight of it. Heros walked these halls, and here he was doing the same thing.

"Anderson! How close are we to main cryostorage?"

"We're here sir. Or, we will be past that bulkhead." The 10 inches of solid steel loomed over them. "I'll get the lascutter."

"You do that."

It was only a few short minutes til the bulkhead was mostly cut through, which left time for his Marines to do what Marines did best, jaw and annoy.

"We're almost through Sarge!" Anderson yelled

"Then post up Marines, prepar-"

**THUNK!**

Zaeed turned just in time to be hit in the face with a chunk of steel, launching him into the back wall. "...Fffuuckk."

Someone screamed, and a body crumpled into the wall beside him. Zaeed struggled to push the _wall_ of steel, even with his exo-suit he strained to heave it off him. When he did, he saw it. A shadowed figure held _his _marine by the neck.

Zaeed reacted instantly, "Drop him now!" He hadn't even realized his pistol was in his hand. The figure dropped his quarry, and stalked toward him. If Zaeed had breath to spare, he would have gasped. He was staring down The Master Chief.


	3. Chapter 3: Ships in the Night

**Chapter 3: Ships in the Night**

**Author's Note:**

**A special thanks to ProfFartBurger for giving the world an interesting nickname for Mass Relays. If not for him, I'd be forced to use something far stupider. **

_Is an interesting mission too much to ask for?_ Admiral Litrinox sighed. It was the long, heavy sigh of a man too tired to moderate his boredom. His banner officers knew better than to react to such flagrant disregard for discipline. Today had been a bad day. Really, terrible was a better fit. Not in terms of military defeats or emotional turmoil, really just in terms of sheer lack of anything at all to do, it was terrible.

Litrinox was a man of action, of doing and moving and shaking till talons were worn and clan marks sunbleached. He'd worked tirelessly to reach his position, kissed and kicked ass from Palaven to Khar'Shan. The Admiral was a veteran of the Batarian "Police Actions," a hero (if you believed his versions of events) that deserved more than a quiet post in the Attican Traverse to cool his blood.

The only excitement that had managed to find its way into the ass-end of Citadel Space was the report of Batarian pirates raiding an Asari commune deep inside "no-go" territory. And yet, four days into an extensive search of all possible escape routes, and two after the Admiral had given up all sense of decorum, all they'd found were trace amounts of eezo and varren shit.

"Admiral, entering System 314 in 1 minute."

"Thank you helm." Litrinox somehow managed to edge the sarcasm from biting to simply sardonic, and surveyed the deck from his elevated position. Turian commanders prized the ability to watch over every officer's position, and Litrinox only rarely lost the pride he felt every time he surveyed the bridge of the _Reticent_. The dreadnought was the pride of the patrol fleet, in every sense of the word. 1100 meters long, the vessel's mass accelerator was nearly 95% the length of the ship, her armor meters thick, her… well, he could go on. Had gone on before, in the times where hours dragged. Now, he had at least something to do.

The _Reticent_ lurched as it dropped back to subluminal speeds. "Sensors, get me a read out on-"

"Admiral, we have four unidentified ships on lo-scan, one is within green range. By the spirits! Relay 314 is online!" the woman tried to contain her shock.

Litrinox sat up straighter in his seat. "Even Batarians wouldn't be that foolish, the penalty is death if they're caught!"

"Looks like their eezo cores are shot sir, no sign of mass manipulation, usually a sign of a botched activation. Shall I hail them?"

"Sir, combat VIs have intercepted an electronic warfare package, looks like the closest ship tried to hack our language databases?"

"Then those slavers are even more stupid than I thought, no hails Comms, destroy them." The four cruisers and five frigates of the Turian patrol fired practically simultaneously, and the UNSC _Grateful Live_ was turned into cooling chunks of metal before her crew even reacted to the shots.

* * *

Ava had been reviewing the scans taken from the 'Tuning Fork' as Zizka had taken to calling it, enjoying the ambient noise of a bridge hard at work. Not that what she was doing was of much use here, without bones, a real language, or new architecture she was left feeling a bit left out of the excitement. Which left her to document her initial findings in increasingly verbose ways.

Ava was trying to come up with a new way to write "concentric circles" when 2nd Lieutenant Sidhu started shouting.

"_Grateful's_ picking up 10 contacts! Size estimates place 5 corvettes, 4 frigates, and a light cruiser!"

D'Noka choked on her coffee. "Identified?"

"No ma'am, _Grateful _authorized Contact Protocol. Oh God! Quantum Link Dead!"

"Does _Morning _corroborate?"

Jin only nodded.

Devastation overtook the bridge. How had this happened in under a minute?

Sidhu broke the silence, her voice wavering, "Tach-Scanners indicate the fleet is moving on intercept course."

The Captain stood. "I'm ordering an evacuation of the _Dawn, _we need to get the hell out of here."

Aubin did too. "Ma'am, I'm overruling, the _Dawn _contains sensitive information about human colonies, we can't let our aggressors take it."

A mixture of disgust and surprise wormed its way across D'Noka's face. "Kid, this is my ship, the only people that can overrule me are-"

"I invoke _urgernte regula_ as an Officer of the ONI Office of Requisitions, Zizka I authorize you under command code C-Z-9-9-1 to authenticate."

The purple form of Zizka appeared, looking at his feet. "Sorry D'Noka, his codes are legitimate."

D'Noka cursed under her breath, "Fine then spook, you're free to get us all killed, contact the _Morning_, tell them to hurry the hell up with that tow."

* * *

Zaeed never wanted to stare down a Spartan again. It was a tense minute with _the _Spartan at gunpoint, and his men trying, and failing, to contain their horror and excitement. It was a relief when _Cortana_ finally managed to break into comms, and confirm his and the _Morning Star_'s intentions. Now, well, he was attaching tow-cables to the most famous ship in human history with the help of probably the most famous _human _in history. It was difficult to express how fanboy-ed up he was, it took all of his professionalism to keep him from asking for an autograph.

The Chief was quiet while he lugged the cables in zero-g, ignoring the gawking marines, and the general air of reverence. Zaeed had no idea how he did it, but he didn't get a chance to ponder it for long. The comms squawked, and Captain Hursnov sounded through his helmet. "All call, sensors report hostile alien lifeforms, attach your cables and RTB."

Zaeed took a second to gather his thoughts on _that_ bombshell, before his command instincts took hold once more. "You heard the Captain, move your asses!"

* * *

"My estimates place the aliens intercepting the _Dancer_ in under an hour, or the _Morning _in under 15 minutes." Zizka stood before the holo-display rendering the system, the 10 red ships in the alien fleet were rapidly approaching from galactic north, while the two human ships -marked blue- were scattered far apart, with one towing a destroyed hulk.

"Why don't they just use FTL to close the distance?" Sidhu questioned.

"Who knows, maybe their FTL requires a cooldown?" Heras studied the maps intently, "Since we can't use slipspace to place some distance with the _Dawn_ towed, I don't see how she can get here safely, why can't we just destroy it and be done here?"

"The _Dawn's_ navbanks contain vital information that would be useful to all humanity Lieutenant Heras, we will return that ship."

"The _Morning _could never tow that huge ship quickly, it already looks like those aliens have faster speeds in realspace. If they get their FTL back up…"

The Weapon's Officer, Dentin, butted in, "And how will we escape? Cole Protocol prevents direct retreat to human-held space, we couldn't go back to Shanxi even if we had the time."

Zizka answered that, "I think it's safe to assume they know we came from the Forks, how else would they have arrived at exactly the right time to intercept?"

"Luck?" A brief chuckle passed through the officers gathered around the map.

"Wait, Zizka do you have the schematic for the _Dawn'_s aft?" D'Noka's voice took on a serious tone.

"Of course, why?"

"Okay, this is gonna sound stupid…"

* * *

Captain Hursnov thought that the Fleet Captain's plan was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard, but he saw no other alternative. "Are the guns set Kowalski?" His helmsman, and primary gunner, nodded. "Christ, fire when ready."

The _Morning Star_'s main gun was a piddly thing in comparison to the MACs of even the heavy frigate his commander helmed, yet against the unshielded and sundered hull of the _Dawn_, her MAC round was like a knife through air. Her shot caught the "neck" of the craft, the point where the bridge and her navigational computers were connected by only a few thick bulkheads to the ship. It wasn't a clean cut, and the historian in him cringed at the thought of maiming an already priceless ship, (despite its already sorry state) but as the bridge drifted easily from the wreckage, he couldn't help but grin at the sheer absurdity of it.

"Detach hull cables, and full speed ahead!"

* * *

"Then why would they simply cut and run?" Litrinox had called a meeting of the fleet, with all the Captains meeting holographically on the communication deck. "These pirates are willy, and they're remarkably advanced, these may be sponsored by the Hegemony."

Arkernion, the Captain of the cruiser _Kerigeen_, stepped forward, "If it pleases the Admiral?" Litrinox nodded, "My XO proposed the theory that they may be recovering mapped territories from beyond the relay."

"Spirits," Desolas, Litrinox's Under Admiral, stepped forward, "I get the feeling the damned Batarians have been illegally colonizing again, they've been lobbying the Council for nearly a decade to activate the relay."

"Then I'll recall the rest of the patrol fleet to System 314, we may need to amass an invasion fleet." Litrinox sighed. "Alright, Arkernion, investigate the wreck, we'll continue with the pursuit."

"Understood, breaking off now." His hologram winked off.

"Turians, we lead the way!"

"**We lead the way!" **The holograms winked away one by one, leaving the Admiral standing in the semi-darkness with his Under.

"You did say you wanted excitement." Desolas had a way of getting under his friend's armor with those japes. Desolas smiled, before clasping his hand on Litrinox's shoulder.

"Spirits Desolas, I could have you court martialed for that one." Litrinox deadpanned. He held the deathly serious face for only a moment before breaking into a snicker. Desolas soon joined him.

"We should probably get back my friend." Desolas' smile faded.

Litrinox groaned "I wish you hadn't said that." Desolas was a chronic party killer. When the pair returned, the bustling activity of the bridge hadn't let up. "Status Report helm?"

"Frigate-equivalent is still making a run for it, we're recalculating intercept, but I estimate the ships will reunite before we catch them."

"How annoying, is warp spun back up engineering?"

"It'll be another few hours Admiral, we're better off in realspace for now."

"Understood, comms, can you get an update on Arkernion, I'd-" The ship groaned under the stress of impact, and threw Litrinox to the ground. The inertial dampeners struggled to reestablish order, as gravity flexed and reasserted itself.

"Sensors!?" the Admiral roared.

"I don't know Sir, I'm detecting radiation from… fr… from-"

"Spit it out you imbecile!"

Sensors' second sputtered out the words, "Nuclear detonation detected from the hulk, the _Kerigeen_'s gone."

Silence reigned the bridge, as red clouded Litrinox's vision.

* * *

The bridge of the _Dancer_ exploded into cheers and whoops.

"Tango down in nuclear hell!" Sidhu reported, beaming one of those 'kid-in-an-explosion-store' smiles

"Fell for the oldest trick in the book, maybe these aliens aren't all that smart after all." D'Noka patted Sidhu's shoulder, before returning to center-deck. "Any wisdom on why our alien friends fell for that Doctor Peters?"

Ava drew her eyes from the jeering crew. "Naivety? We may be their first contact as well."

"Huh. What an unpleasant bunch these are."

"Quite, Captain."

"Captain!" Jin shouted over the din, "Priority communique from Captain Hursnov, he wants to talk privately."

A look Ava couldn't quite describe passed over D'Noka's face. "I'll take it in the Comm Hub. Heras, you have the room!"

* * *

"Hursnov, it's a suicide mission and you know it!" D'Noka roared, her face scrunched into astonished rage. "What of your crew, what happens to them when you do this!"

Hursnov remained calm in the face of his superior's storm. "I've asked for volunteers from vital staff, Ike, the rest will be boarding Pelicans, and boarding your craft once we rendezvous."

"Don't play this game with me Pyotr, we can both make it-"

"You know that's not true, that nuke only bought us a few minutes, if the Fork's our only hope for warning Shanxi, one of us won't make it, or neither of us. The _Dancer _can tow faster, and may be able to survive if my plan doesn't work."

"Pyotr, please, there has to be another way."

"I'm sure you came to the same conclusion Ike, I'm sending Zizka and your helmsman the procedures for the switch, I'd like docking permissions as well ma'am."

D'Noka shook her head, and put her head in her hands. "Fine… thank you Hursnov."

"No need, I'm only doing my duty."

"That's some navy bullshit Hursnov."

He gave a tight grin to his friend. "It sure is."

* * *

The bridge was silent, it echoed as the Captain walked up and down the narrow halls toward his station. The comms station pinged, and the Captain almost called for Heinlien, before his words caught. He walked over to the station, and answered the call.

He was greeted by D'Noka's warm, brown eyes, and bronze piercings, glinting in the light. "I must say, the Master Chief _and_ Cortana in the same gift, you are very flattering." Her smile seemed plastered on, and faded quickly in the face of the coming end.

"You're always the joker Captain. Is everyone aboard?"

"The last pelican landed a moment ago, the cables are attached."

"Then I guess this is it then Ike." The silence hung between them, static and the bustling of the bridge behind him mingled into a wall of noise now blaring in the quiet.

"I'll miss you Pyotr."

"As will I."

Hursnov cut the transmission before the tears came.

* * *

A raw, unbidden anger surged under the surface of the _Reticent_'s bridge. It had been centuries since nuclear weapons had been used in wartime, centuries since a Turian vessel fell to one. The fact that _pirates_ somehow managed to obtain them, and then use one on a Turian cruiser, it was so much more than a slap to the face. When that spirits-damned frigate turned back to face them, trigger fingers were itchy across the fleet.

Litrinox had his eyes glued to the range finders, his orders at the tip of his mandible.

_500 Thousand meters…_

_300 Thousand…_

_100… _

"**Fire!"** Litrinox roared.

That's when one frigate turned into ten.

* * *

UNSC corvettes are equipped with holographic beacons, which are generally used in search and rescue missions, or as helpful markers in assaults. However, using them requires an impressive amount of power, so much so that it makes them generally ineffective in combat, especially with the heat requirements they pose, and the fact that creating a decoy makes you light up like a Christmas Tree in the Alps on thermal imaging. However, against an alien race, such a trick might just work, if it didn't cook the crew alive first.

Hursnov cracked a grin as the alien ships lined up with his craft spun wildly to attack the ghosts now swarming them. The swarm of corvettes swung and spun like fighters in the black, forcing shipboard cannons into a frenzy of misses. He laughed at the decoy's physics defying dives and ducks through the enemy formation, at the alien cannons and lasers lancing through intangible ships and into the sharp, avian vessels of his enemy. He laughed even as his sweat began to burn his face, as his gunner shot round after round into the smaller vessels, as the heat became unbearable, and then all-encompassing. Even when his cabin began to burn he laughed, as the ghosts finally shorted out, and the vessels turned to him. He watched the _Dancer _disappear on his melting sensor screen, and he tried to collect himself, but the heat was too much.

He watched the big vessel turn towards, and saw the flash of fire before darkness took him.

* * *

"I've never seen holographic tech so advanced before, nor FTL." the sentence came out smooth, more relaxed than the other voices aboard the STG stealth frigate.

"Indeed sir, it seems that once again the Turians have ruined a first contact." A more familiar cadence is found in this voice.

Another jumps in "Any bets on how long it takes them to realize what they've done?"

"Keep your betting to yourself Lour, though I'd wager they've already figured it out." the slow drawl spoke again. "Let's maneuver towards one of the more intact wrecks, maybe we'll find something good."

**Author's Note Again: **

**Sorry for the long gap between updates, it's been a busy week, and I expect it to only worsen. Expect updates to only happen around the weekend henceforth. Please leave reviews, or questions if you have any. Keeps the pen sharp! **


	4. Chapter 4: The Battle Over Shanxi

**Chapter 4: The Battle Over Shanxi**

**EDIT: Added Linebreaks, sorry everybody, forgot to add them!**

**Author's Note:**

**This chapter will be the longest yet, so strap yourselves in. Feel free to skip the rest of this note this if you'd rather not know the specifics of how I scaled up the Mass Effect Universe to make this an interesting fight at all.**

**Let me preface this by saying that Halo Ships are unequivocally better than almost all Mass Effect ships in terms of durability and sheer destructive force. Rejoice, other Halo buffs, for I was one of the people that pointlessly debated Halo/Mass Effect in forums across the internet in my early years. I know my fair share, which is why I generally buffed the Turians, and all ME species to make this something that isn't just another **_**Chief stomps puny blue people **_**story. For one, ME ships fire more powerful rounds, and their Guardian Lasers do considerably more damage to energy shields (though at this point the Turians know this not). Limitations in range are maintained, and the general advantage to maneuverability the ME ships have is kept as well. Assume that much of the stuff I haven't touched upon will also be addressed via plot points. I only did this now to prevent the storm of hate that I am sure will appear. Now that that is over, enjoy the chapter!**

Shanxi was a garden world, in every sense of the word. Though much of her landmasses were blanketed in high, nigh impenetrable mountain ranges, the valleys and vales between them were choked with buzzing life. Thick, temperate forests, fertile riverlands, and the beautiful and peaceful wildlife gave her colonists a wonderful place to lay their cities and farms. By Doctor Kingston's reckoning, this place could become home to a farming colony as bountiful as Harvest was over a century before.

Kingston took in the cool breeze that blew down the streets of New Landing. Her buildings were still brand new, white marble and grey slate edifices stood proudly in her city center, the abundance of the stone in the nearby hills allowing the opulence. It reminded him of home, the grand boulevards and proud structures of Washington DC.

The city was only mildly busy at this hour, after the Colonial Government called a 'Level Green,' people were skittish, and would rather stay home and enjoy the free day off work rather than risk the "danger" evident in the alert. As the head administrator of Landing Regional Hospital, it was technically his responsibility to go to the security meetings generated by these Levels, but this was the fourth one this month. Kig-Yar pirate sightings a hundred light years off were really only something he could stomach with a belly full of dim sum, so he plotted a course to one of his favorite Cantonese restaurants-

The air raid sirens started blaring from the speakers, catching Kingston and his fellow pedestrians in open shock. The city AI, Xi, started to belt out her warning, "Alert! Alert! Level Orange Situation Declared! All Residents, Immediately Follow Emergency Evacuation and Shelter Plans. Militia Members, Please…" The sound of the panicked crowd and the clear ring of Xi's speech faded as Kingston fell into a deep panic. _Where was his husband, his children? Ky was probably supervising at the Space Elevator Construction Site, and the twins should still be at school… _the phone ringing in his pocket brought him back to the urgency of the present.

"Is this Doctor Well Kingston?" A cool, masculine voice rumbled over his phone.

"Uh… yes, what is it?"

"Your expertise is needed by the Shanxi Security Council, an armored personnel carrier has been dispatched to your position. Do not leave your current position."

"But, what about my-"

"Your family is being relocated to a secure facility, please remain in your current position." The line went dead before he could get another word in.

* * *

The rough, utilitarian ships of the Shanxi defense fleet floated gracefully in the infinite night of space. The graceless edges and angular dimensions hid a beauty, a glorious meld of science, engineering, and the human spirit. His fleet represented the spirit of humanity, the scrappy, brilliant bastards that told the universe to shove it and broke all its rules just to prove it could. His ships would once again prove his race on the field of battle. Not that he was excited about their prospects.

Rear Admiral Jones studied the organized chaos that was Shanxi's Space Station. Over a hundred merchants and space liners, elegant in comparison to their defenders, raced to exit Shanxi's gravity well. His fleet was ill equipped for any sort of unknown force. His own flagship, the _ancient_ Eion-class carrier _More Than One_, was avoiding an extended stay at the museum only because it was the last carrier the UNSC could spare. Her main gun hadn't been fired since the Great War, her fighter compliment was at three-fourths capacity, this felt like a challenge mode in a strategy game.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, not really. His first posting as a Rear Admiral was supposed to be a relaxed thing, where he learned the ropes of fleet command. He'd only just been promoted for god's sake, and now he was in charge of a First Contact WAR!?

He pushed down the vomit creeping up his throat. Shanxi's fleet was 15 strong now, his carrier, three destroyers, five frigates, six corvettes. A force designed primarily for escort and patrol, and yet it would be used to defend 3 million souls.

Jones sighed, before pulling himself from the observation deck. He couldn't plan a successful defense from an empty room, unfortunately, so he entered the grav-lift, and made his way toward the bridge.

The bridge of a carrier is a uniquely chaotic experience. Bridge officers and air chiefs keep the air at a low din at best. Now, with a battle brewing just beyond some strange artifact, that low din had turned into a something better described as a school cafeteria. As he marched through the shouting Lieutenants and Air Commanders, he gave a knowing glance to Captain Jensen, who looked up from a red-faced supply officer to give a pleading look, before returning.

The tac-room, despite being filled with his _staff_ officers, had also devolved into a shouting match. One that went on a little too long in his presence.

Jones got the attention of his staff with an ear splitting whistle he learned at boot camp, which startled his officers to attention. An awkward silence settled over the room.

"Admiral Jones…" started one Officer, before she trailed off.

"Now that I have everyone's attention," he returned their salutes, sending his officers scrambling into their seats. "Has your team discussed the battleplan?"

Several officers began to speak at once, before quieting at once as well. A look befell the table, as something like shame crept into the air. _Guess not_.

"Commodore Kitfield, would you like to share the prevailing intelligence with the rest of the class?" Kitfield stood quickly.

"Sir! Our team has devised three basic tactical outlooks based on Captain D'Noka's-" he nodded toward the Captain, "-assessment of the enemy." A wall-screen lit up at the far end of the room, as the Commodore continued. "Based on assessment of ship maneuverability and speed, specifically during the assault by the _Morning Star_, alien vessels have displayed superiority in realspace maneuverability and acceleration. Unfortunately, after the _Morning_'s use of holographic decoys, it's unlikely it'll work again. We'll have to rely on the good 'ole fashioned for this fight."

Another officer, Chief Specialist Harnur, rose. "From the readings taken by _Dancer_ we can confirm that whatever sort of FTL used by these fleets is based on a sort of mass affecting phenomena, similarly to the Tuning Forks."

"You're saying the Forks are made by the same aliens?" asked Jones.

"I'm saying they used the same principles, this could be another case like the Covenant." The comparison sent a shiver down the spine of everyone in the room. The scars the Covenant left on every human were intense, even a century after the end of the War, and the collapse of their government.

"Let's not be so hasty Specialist, Kitfield, continue your briefing."

"Thank you Sir, since we are likely at a maneuverability disadvantage, I'd recommend staying at range and letting our superior guns thin their numbers before we enter knife-fighting range."

"What gives you the impression they're weaker?"

Kitfield motioned to another officer. "Lieutenant Eze can give you a weapons breakdown." The Lieutenant stood.

"Based on the ranges at which they chose to fire their weapons, we estimate a significant range advantage on our end, though the disparity in average velocity is significant. Our rounds travel significantly more slowly, with the exception of the SMACs, and capital class ships, of which we have none."

"Any other pertinent information?"

"Yields for these weapons couldn't be calculated, as both Corvettes sustained significant damage too quickly from multiple sources. Energy weapons were also detected by _Dancer_, but yields could not be determined, though it seems they're primarily close range weapons. That's all Admiral."

"I see, then I suggest we get to work."

* * *

Plasma cooked the stone and metal, and the building sagged under the stress. People screamed, and were hosed down as they ran out of the entrance. The heat of passing bolts could scald flesh, did in the packed crowds. Those who were hit, well, usually they died. But the screams when they didn't, shrill, like the screams of the fighters above. He carried her, the pregnant woman who'd begged for help as her leg lay split like a log. He'd blasted a hole through the lines of grunts and jackals, yet he heard his shield fizel, the klaxon sound as the woman went limp. He found a place to stop, a place to rest for just a moment from the vrr-vrr-vrr of the plasma and the thunk-thunk of the rifles. He put her down, and saw her face-

"Chief?"

The flash of blue to his right brought him back. Back to the _Graceful Dancer_. Back to human space for the first time in... what did Cortana say? 100 years.

"Chief!"

His mind reacted to what he heard, and he turned toward Cortana, her face on the monitor twisted with worry. "You alright Chief? You haven't moved in a while."

He stretched his legs before standing before the mirror. He hadn't seen his face in years. Many, in fact. Hadn't had a room to himself for longer. He studied the lines that weren't there before, the scars that crisscrossed.

"I'm fine, Cortana." His arm came up to feel them, the lines and scars, but it dropped before they touched. He drove the memories out of his head, all the painful things. "The _Dancer _is about to land on Shanxi," the low rumble of atmospheric resistance confirmed her, "thought you might wanna join the Officer's briefing, being that you're technically an Officer."

"Non-Commissioned."

"Oh come on, it's not like they'd actually stop you from attending, do it, please? For me? I wanna see all the fancy toys they've invented since we left." Cortana's puppy eyes looked more like daggers trained on major arteries, but John was convinced, based entirely on the fact that he didn't want to know the retribution he'd receive if he didn't. He made to put on his armor, the battered green suit that was piled neatly in the corner of the room. Yet something in him felt… apprehension. That was the word.

"Okay, we'll go." Cortana practically exploded at that, "On one condition."

* * *

Ava Peters had seen more than her fair share of insanity, not even counting the past few days. But a Spartan in navy regs was something you only believed if you saw it. How anyone had managed to find fitting pants and a shirt for a man that stood over 2 meters tall boggled her mind, and the fact that the most famous human _ever_ was standing, barefaced, for the first time, in the _same room_. Well, she was pinching herself every few minutes, and nothing seemed to disappear, so she probably wasn't dreaming.

It'd been only a day since the _Dancer_ had returned to human space, hours since Shanxi signaled via the emergency beacon that shit had hit the fan. Unfortunately, as the beacon was really more like a deadman's switch, all that high command knew was that the fan was in trouble, and not that the fan was being run over by a septic tank. Wavespace links hadn't been set up in Shanxi system yet, which meant they wouldn't know until tightbeam comms reach the colony Foundation, in a week, along with the other refugees.

_Their relief force could be walking into a thousand alien ships, and a colony that's already ash._ She put that out of her head. Right, the Master Chief in regs. Heras, XO and 'by-the-book' Commander that he was, was currently detailing the damage dealt to the _Dancer_ by the Forks due to the towing of the _Dawn. _He'd been doing it for nearly an hour now, even though nearly all the bridge officers knew the damage by heart. She almost wished Aubin was here, just so she could share a cynical look with the ONI agent every once in a while.

The cool, grey color briefing room was cramped with _Dancer's_ 8 officers and representatives, and was clearly the only room in the ship not touched by color. She assumed that was Heras' idea.

Sidhu was the first to crack. A white lie to escape the druggery, a problem with weapon calibrations or somesuch. Then Jin, for comm tower supervision, then the Marine Commander, Vanzo, working on integration with local forces, until suddenly it was only Ana, Heras, Cortana, and the Master Chief. And Zizka, technically, but Ana doubted he was actually listening anymore. Cortana, though, she was probably the best audience member there was. Asking questions about everything from the MAC to crew quarters. And the Chief, practically a statue, yet every glance at his ice blue eyes told her he was alert, watching his AI ask and learn.

Ava was trying to think of a polite way to escape this hell, when a claxon sounded through the ship. Heras was jolted by the clanging sound, red alert. He rushed out of the briefing room, and onto the bridge, as crew members poured in.

"Jin! Status report!"

The woman raised her hand as she cupped one ear of her headphones. "Fleetcom reports 42… 48… 51 ships appearing from the Fork, energy signatures match the hostile aliens." A sharp wave of despair swept the bridge.

Heras took a long, shuddering breath. "Okay, uh… Engineering, can you give an estimate on how our engines are doing?"

A pause was held, before Jin quietly whispered. "Sir, you are engineering."

Heras muttered under his breath, "Right, Zizka, can you get me an update from Lieutenant Nina in engineering?"

"Already have it, Commander. She says we'd be moving at 1⁄2 flank at best if we left dry-dock now. Shields are at 100%, but hull integrity is poor, approaching failing. My opinion, we shouldn't leave the spaceport."

"And be sitting ducks?"

The following silence was deafening.

* * *

"All ships have successfully transited the relay, Admiral." Comms reported. Litrinox only grinned.

"Sensors, give me a readout on the system, where are they hiding?"

"Sir, we're picking up massive amounts of artificial energy sources around the second planet. Garden-class. Energy signatures match the Batarian ships. Numbering ten, 6 frigates, 3 cruisers, and a dreadnought!?"

"What? Confirm that!" Litrinox practically shouted.

"All ships confirm, size measured between 1,300 and 1,500 meters."

Litrinox cursed under his breath, a sharp thing, that betrayed his shock. "Are these Batarians insane?"

"Sir?" A Science Officer stood beside him.

"Yes, Lieutenant Vakair?" exasperation tinged Litrinox's voice.

"It's the opinion of the First Strategists Jigiorix and Falsar that the combatants may be a new species."

A murmur spread quickly at that. "What gives them such an idea?"

"We've analysed the electronic warfare package sent by the enemy, it seems it was a translation package for a language we can't identify."

Desolas approached then, "You're saying we opened fire on a damn First Contact Party!" Whispers were now turning into full on disrespectful conversation.

"Quiet Down!" It quieted to a more respectable whisper at the Admiral's admonishment, but Litrinox knew that was only due to Turian discipline. "If what you say is true, we've broken more than a few Council laws." Litrinox's own whisper was slight. "This must be a young race, what with their poor protection of such a populated planet. Perhaps they could be made to submit to the Hierarchy?"

"Are you in- sir if the Council finds out?" Desolas struggled to maintain his professionalism. "What justification could we possibly have for war!" His outrage spilled volume into his voice.

"Their breaking of Citadel Conventions, Sub Admiral, their use of nuclear weapons, of opening relays-"

"How could they know of such laws!"

"It does not matter!" The Admiral shouted again, for everyone to hear. "It is that, or it is our disgrace!" The Admiral made a nervous gesture, a flexing of his mandibles only scarcely seen by his men. "Has the language package been translated?" He asked the statuesque Science Officer.

"A basic translation has been compiled, Sir."

"Then send this message to the primitives:"

* * *

Admiral Jones was conversing with his AI, Lianders, when his comms officer shouted, "Aliens are blasting a message on all frequencies!" The bridge only barely reacted to that, a point of pride for the Admiral, who was himself left open mouthed.

"Let's hear it."

A scramble of interference began to play from the speakers. "**Vi er Turian hierarkiet. overgiv jeres skibe og rum stationer og jeres liv vil blive skånet**." Confusion spread through the ranks quickly. He could feel it spread through his fleet. It was the Captain of his flagship, Jensen, that first said what rankled thousands of humans across the planet.

"The aliens speak Danish?"

"I guess?" Was all Jones managed to say. "How did they learn this?" Came a solid ten seconds later, and was a question directed at nobody in particular.

His AI, a man dressed in the thick woolen fashion of 1800's Europe, appeared in a flourish of grey light. "The contact packages use uncommon languages to protect military communications in English."

_That did make more sense._ "Jensen, you can speak Danish right?"

"I can."

"What did they say?"

"Essentially Sir, surrender or die."

"Ah, nothing unexpected then, continue preparations."

Comms seemed disappointed for a second, "Nothing to say back sir?"

The Admiral pondered for a moment, before he spoke: "Fuck you."

* * *

The Salarian Frigate _Wandering Eye_ slipped into the system that so troubled the Turians that they needed the whole 15th Patrol Fleet. They entered in sour moods, their attempt to ascertain the nature of the aliens ruined by the brutal destruction of their ships by the vast superiority of the Turian fleet. The first alien ship, which had tried in vain to contact the Turians, was little more than scraps of floating metal, and had left nothing of interest beyond a curious metal alloy, which seemed to be made for impressive radiation protection.

The second was also mostly ruined, though some scraps of biological material were recovered, all of it was burned and unhelpful. Even the computer they'd recovered was half blasted, and entirely wiped of data. _Clever things these aliens_, the female salarian thought, _secretive despite an ignorance of the wider galaxy. A shame they will be conquered, they might have been interesting. _In any case, it was her job to learn more about this species, and so it was necessary they find some intact (or at least mostly intact) specimens of technology and biology for study. As was the way of the STG.

"Ma'am, a suitable target has been detected on system outskirts, appears to be attempting to escape system in stealth. VIs predict 89% likelihood that they're civilian."

"Excellent work Duro. Jierto, run cold, Lour, prepare your operatives, we're boarding in 15." The calm exterior of the Dalatrass hid her excitement. She stared at the small dot marking the vessel. _Soon you will reveal your secrets._

* * *

The tactical map loomed large in Jones' mind, as he walked from station to station, surveying his staff officers at work. A few minutes ago Captain Jensen had ordered the launching of her 300 fighters from the _More Than One_, and the endless chatter of the Air Commanders had lowered to a mere whisper of sound. He listened to the chatter spurned by the fleet, his Captains and Commanders, the Marshal on Shanxi Station, the cool and professional words that reverberated around the room. He watched as 50 odd alien ships silently approached. He could almost see them now, from the huge windows at the front of the room. His eyes were far less powerful than the tach-sensors, radar, and tightbeam pings that every ship his fleet was sending back here, yet despite all that, he could swear he saw the grey, angled ships of his enemy.

He walked over to his Sensors, and knew time was almost up. The enemy was entering extreme effective range for Shanxi station's SMAC, the battle was soon to be fought. "Give me general comms." The officer gave the affirmative, and for a moment, he developed stage fright, the enormity of the situation suddenly weighing down. He shook it off, and began:

"Soldiers of the UNSC, this is your Admiral speaking. I'll make this quick, as I know you don't need inspiration to do your damndest. I only wish to give you purpose. To remind you that we fight not simply for ourselves, or our ships, or our colony. No. We fight for all humanity, for all her people in every city, on every farm, every desolate rock and glorious citadel. We fight for them, and today we'll make sure those aliens never forget it. Good luck, though I'm sure you won't need it."

"Sir, Shanxi station has begun her barrage on the enemy fleet."

_So it begins_.

* * *

Litrinox suddenly hated these Primitives with a singular passion. Their station, one blasted station, had managed to utterly destroy three of his vessels before they'd even managed to enter battery range. Litrinox had maneuvered his fleet into an orderly line of battle, his frigates on the extreme flanks and front, screening for mines, fighters, and other frigates, while his heavy ships in the back were content to lob artillery shells at the enemies own measly frigates. That classic strategy was thrown straight out the window when a _Station _opened up with a slug moving at an ungodly percentage of the speed of light.

The cruiser _Felinse_, along with the frigates _Jirah_ and _Litzi_ had been annihilated in the first blasts, and his fleet was now taking evasive maneuvers. The Admiral was suitably impressed by these whelps; when you don't have eezo, just make the gun bigger, then build a station around it. It also seriously threw his plans into disarray.

"Detecting fighter screens, estimated 300 or more fighters on left and right flanks!"

There was no time for shocked silences in battle, only action. "Redirect our fighter screens to meet them, authorize frigates on the left and right to pull in and engage!" A flare of light shone on in his center.

"_Diester_ has been destroyed sir." Litrinox knew their Captain, he noted dimly as the ruins of the shattered ship drifted speedily into view, knocked horribly by the station cannon the aliens wielded. The line of the far off alien ships then erupted into light.

"We're taking fire from those damned ships, what distance till our accelerators are in green?"

"One light second Sir-" A crash sounded from around him, sending the officer into his console with a sickening thud.

"Barriers down 35%, we just took a hit from their Dreadnought!"

"Re-angle kinetic barriers on degree-"

"Give me a firing solution on those damned frigates, all cruisers target designated-"

"Enemy fighters engaged with primary screens-"

"Fleet has entered green distance, open fire!"

His own fleet began to return volleys, as blue-grey streaks of light met the orange balls of flame that raced across the night, and bombarded the enemy in flares of blue shielding and green explosions. An enemy frigate was sundered by a blast from a cruiser, sending it careening into fighters along her flanks, another deftly dodged missiles, while launching torpedoes of its own into the belly of a turian cruiser. Other, slower missiles exploded into nuclear fire when intercepted, further enraging his fleet.

Litrinox reveled as the battle commenced, absorbed and added his own voice into the chorus of battle communications. He grinned ferally as his vessel lined up with one of the bulky and elongated cruisers of the enemy, and fired four rounds in quick succession, popping it's tough shield with the help of cruisers of the line, and gutting it with two final cracks of his cannon.

Swarms of their fighters still dogged his own, but he was sure the frigates could defeat them, and the enemy's own frigate escorts. Still, his losses were troubling. The Super Cannon claimed another cruiser, this one only kilometers from the Reticent, spewing atmosphere from a rending wound along the back of its superstructure.

"Be advised, heavy fighters carry torpedos, prioritize crafts."

"Mayday, mayday, _Corsaire _is dead in the water-"

"We're pushing those bastards back!"

"Enemy frigate destroyed!"

"We're losing barriers on our stern, requesting an egress through the battle lines."

"We're detecting energy on the planet's spinward horizon."

"I'm starting to hate these damn savages, do we have details?" Litrinox growled.

"Five cruisers moving fast, must have hid behind the planet's gravity well."

"Dispatch the left flank to intercept, keep me posted." _Clever bastards, these monsters, but we'll take them down a notch, and I'll be welcomed home a conqueror of savage beasts._

"Sir, we're detecting energy build-up."

"Then get our ships moving!"

* * *

Commodore Cortina anxiously paced the deck, his head trained dually on the tactical map and range finders. He had been dispatched by Jones to "harass those fuckers," and had decided the stealth approach to bring his three destroyers and two frigates into the back of the enemy lines. A suicide mission? Not if he had a say.

"Cortina, a section of their flank has turned to face us."

"I can see that, Livonia." Cortina was always curt with his AI, the dour and often fatalistic woman always stated the obvious. It was a tradition the two shared, and one that persisted even in these dire times. "Weapons, are we close?"

"500K kilometers before we're in range.

"_Black Heart _is taking fire Sir, enemy corvettes approaching on the left flank." Comms reported.

"Tell them to take evasive action, we're nearly at effective range." A shudder shook the ship.

"Shields at 87% percent. Damn those bastards fire fast." Engineering belted out.

"We're at 100K kilos Commodore!"

Streaks of fire began to spew out of the approaching enemies, and bounced or shattered their projectiles on the energy shields of his own group. The shields of the frigate _Emerald Star_ shattered under the combined lucky fire of three enemy corvettes, and only managed to regenerate after a glancing blow sheared off her con-tower.

"50k kilos!"

"Fire!" Triple beams of blue light shot from the bow of the three destroyers, rending the two corvettes directly in their path. MAC rounds blasted from his frigates, bypassing the enemies advancing on them, and firing into the lightly shielded backs of the enemy cruisers. Hardlight weapons were a staple of modern destroyers, able to scythe through light armor, and burn through shields. As Cortina's own ship, _Great Horse,_ pumped its engines through the enemy lines, his lance shredded one… two… three ships, his fleet adding three more kills of their own, before his own casualties started to rear.

First went the _Emerald Star, _the frigate run-through by a massive torpedo that must have hit the magazine. _Black Heart _was overtaken by fighters, who overwhelmed the energy shields and riddled her with bombs. The _Horse_ groaned as a round split her engine room in two, totaling her slipspace drive. "Comms? Order our lads into retreat, tell them it was an honor." Cortina eyed the cruiser that must have been the enemy flagship, and grinned. "Helm, plot a new course."

The enemy cruiser sent a shot straight through the bridge before the order could be carried out, killing the ship and her Captain in one fell swoop.

* * *

"_Great Horse_ has been disabled, Battlegroup Milo is retreating."

Admiral Jones had watched in disbelief as that damned Cortina cut a swath through the alien forces. He'd used the utter disarray the Commodore had caused as time to pull his forces back, little that their still were. Only his flagship, and two frigates had managed to disengage successfully, the sheer volume of fire overwhelming his fleet. Hundreds of fighters were still clashing in the wake, holding of the endless corvettes of the aliens at bay. The chatter among the air marshals was solemn, and intense. He'd inflicted heavy losses on the aliens, but his own fleet was practically gone, reduced to a third.

It pained him to flee the carcasses of his own ships, but resistance must survive, if Shanxi was to withstand these invaders.

"Marshal Ioanness, give our fighters the retreat order, if they can't dock soon direct them to Shanxi."

"Admiral, boarders are breaching Shanxi Station!"

"The _Willard_ has been disabled sir!"

Jones felt a great weight of shame as he ordered his 'fleet' to enter slipspace.

* * *

Litrinox watched as the last of the enemy fleet disappeared into _portals_. The suicide ships that had launched into his rear were dealt with, only a single of those spirits-damned _laser-cruisers_ escaping from his force. Twelve of his ships lay destroyed or disabled, while his enemy was forced from the field. A victory, perhaps, but a costly one.

His marine commanders were already preparing for the invasion of the planet below, and boarders were already working through the huge station that had caused him so much grief. He looked at a picture of a dead alien, a fleshy, hairy ape that looked suspiciously like an Asari.

Internally, he despaired at what terrors he'd introduced to this weak-looking species. But he also dreamed of a future where he would be Primarch of this potential protectorate. He dreamed of the power he could wield, of the advances he could bring to this race that lacked even eezo. This death was surely worth it, wasn't it?

**Author's Note: Please leave reviews if you have them, I always want to see my reader's feedback! Also, a special thanks to biolaj1998 for translating the Danish portion of this chapter!**


	5. Chapter 5: The Ghosts of War

**Chapter 5: The Ghosts of War**

**Author's Note: I considered using a quote from GOT as a title here, but I suppose that would be too much. **

**To address a few of the criticisms about UNSC tech not seeming to advance much, it should be noted that, as mentioned previously, all the ships in Shanxi's defense fleet were old junkers from nearly 100 years previous, and were mostly just outfitted with a shield, a working MAC, and prayer. Imagine it like World War 1 vessels fighting refitted World War 2 vessels. Outnumbered and out-gunned, WW2 ships couldn't win on technological superiority alone. Modern ships against WW1 ships? That's a whole different ball game, which we'll address later. :)**

Space seemed _too _empty now. The lightshow around Shanxi had ended only a few minutes before, with god knows who winning. At the moment, his cargo ship, UNV _My Other Spaceship's a Car, _had been damaged by his _idiot_ helmsman (Captain Arna bored his eyes into Jessa's skull, as if she could read his mind) running headlong into the docking bay at Shanxi station, which managed to throw off alignment on the slipspace nav, _and_ shear off his antenna. He was lucky to have been in dry dock on station when the all-call went out, else he'd likely be xenomorph food by now. He was luckier that he'd the foresight to start 'running cold' before the aliens showed up and started blasting up the joint.

Such were the pains of hiring family. His dad had insisted he bring along his niece, Jessa, as a pilot after his last one had decided to hop fleets. His loss, Arna Stellar Consortium was one of the fastest growing cargo haulers in the Dead Zone! Or at least that was the company line, his Dad had come up with that one. Really, he wondered if his Father had only had his nine brothers and sisters to get cheap captains for his damn business.

In any case, he began to think he may have been a little hard on Jessa. She was only 17 after all, and she'd been forced to dock at literally the most convoluted docking bay in human history. Everybody lost a bit of pride at Shanxi Station, Jessa just happened to lose a bit more than most. While Arna waited for Lanvoo to repair his slipspace drive, he'd taken up a card game with one of his less recent hires, Minmac.

Minmac was a grunt, or an Unggoy if you were in polite society. Not that the bastards cared all that much, so long as you didn't shoot 'em. The little Unggoy currently whipping his ass at Pishti was the Patriarch of a small clan of his own: himself, his two mates, and their four kids, all of which had taken refuge on his vessel. Unggoy were one of the more interesting cases following the collapse of the Covenant. Although some made their way back to their ancestral home world, or the few other methane-based planets they'd terraformed or found, the majority became wanderers in the stars; laborers and pioneers looking for better lives.

In human space (though rarely on Earth) the Unggoy found the most success in this life style, as instead of becoming serfs in the various Sangheli Kingdoms, or essentially slaves in Kig-Yar settlements, humans were merciful in treating them as just second class citizens. Most Unggoy would work if you fed them, supplied methane for them, or paid them the meager wages they seemed to boggle at. On some more recent colonies, Unggoy we're beginning to make up 30 - 40% of the population, though they rarely had the right to suffrage. Shanxi though, well only humans were crazy enough to jump a hundred light years out without good comms, so it was mostly humans on Shanxi.

Minmac was a friend, and a bastard of one at that, as he'd just won another round with another fucking perfect pishti. That was the third time it happened this game, and Minmac chittered greedily as another 10 credits were added to his winnings.

"I've been playing this game for 20 years and I've never seen a fucker so lucky!" Arna moaned as he transferred the credits.

"Guess you've never met a fucker like me, ah Eser?" Minmac's voice was a deep, brassy thing that spewed from his mouth, a juxtaposition he'd never thought of before he'd met him two years prior. "Another round?" he grinned, holding his winning card playfully in his dexterous claws.

"Chew on your cables!" spat Eser, motioning toward the two reinforced 'meth cables' that allowed the Unggoy to work in Oxygen at all. Now a days, instead of the bulky apparatus that the Covenant forced them to wear, manufacturers had designed the discreet face mask and tank that opened mobility, and reduced their profile from pyramid to simply bipedal. Eser stood to reach his intercom, and punched in the code for the engine-bay. "Lanvoo, are you done yet! I'm losing all my money here, won't have enough to pay _you _soon!"

A faint shout about the 'sin of gambling' was all he heard from him, so he assumed it was still a few hours from working. Lanvoo got especially fire-and-brimstone when he was getting close to the end of a problem. But an unease had swept over him, despite that. He wished that his wife, Youra, had stayed behind this time, that his grandmother wasn't left alone taking care of his son on Mercator, he wished quite a bit. Now, he wished that he'd never played that damn Grunt for money, and lost nearly a hundred credits for it. _A life full of regrets_ he mused. _And a cargo bay full of grain, grapes, and 14 spacers. _

_**CLUNK! **_The _My Other Spaceship_ shook, as the titanium groaned under a piercing pressure. The air suddenly whisked out of the room, and then as quickly returned, the biting smell of ozone permeating the air, the atmosphere noticeably thinner.

"All call, is everyone alright!" The Captain coughed into the intercom. Check-ins from all his crew sounded, each reducing his anxiety, if only marginally. "Jessa, the fuck happened?"

Her chair spun around, revealing the slight, and pale-skinned teen that had served as his helmsman this flight. "I have no idea, I was just looking at data readouts when something collided with our left… I mean port side."

"Okay okay, do we have a damage report Youra?" He radioed his XO, and wife.

"Lanvoo and Finster report damage on our port side, explosive decompression was handled by adaptive foam, but we'll probably need a team to restore structural integrity."

"Shit, okay. Minmac, can you get your boys on it?"

There was no response, which prompted the Captain to turn and find the grunt already gone. _Rude little bastard, but eminently capable. "_Jessa, can you tell what hit us?"

"On-site cams are down-" Another headache in itself, "-but I think one of those asteroids might have hit us." She deftly typed, bringing up the aft cam on the blank wall, and displaying the perfect blue of the gas giant whose rings the _Spaceship_ hid amongst.

"Well, document one of those bastards for insurance. Christ, my premium is _so_ going up after this." The intercom buzzed quietly, directing Eser's attention to the small blinking nub on the central console. He activated it with a press. "What's up?"

"Hey Cap, is Kerir here." Minmac's eldest son sounded much like his father, yet had a slower cadence, and a poorer grasp of grammar. "Bulkhead arrived at, found a strange something, father calls it a 'pod.'

Eser whispered into his niece's ear, "Call a general alert, have Stollger and Asil meet me at the impact armed." he raised his voice for the young Unggoy to hear. "I think you guys should let us handle it Kerir, tell your father that's an order."

"Oh come-on Captain," the father sounded through the comm, "looks like scrap metal, might be something nice in it!"

"It's an order Minmac, not a suggestion!" He cut the comms. "Jessa, lock the cabin behind me okay?" She nodded, a little startled at the request, as he rushed out the door.

* * *

The _My Other Spaceship_ was an FIT-109 Class freight hauler, essentially a small pressurized operations area with a 500 meter tall cargo hold attached to it vertically **[A/N Imagine a **_**thick**_ **B-Wing fighter]**. He was happy that the damned breach was nearby, and didn't require a 5 minute turbolift ride. That ended when he arrived to an active battle.

Glowing balls of energy spun above the strange, metal structure, firing red-hot beams of energy. Kerir bore an angry burn across the chest, while blind firing his plasma pistol (of human-make) into the corridor. Minmac was charging his relic of a Covenant pistol, himself singed on his left arm. Fire forced the Captain into an alcove a few meters distant the grunts, while he heard a commotion marking Stollger and Asil's arrival.

"What did you do!?" Eser roared over the cacophony of battle.

"It wasn't us I swear! We just wanted to leave!" responded Minmac, who fired his overloaded weapon into one balls, shattering it with a shower of sparks.

"Holy Shit!" The two men behind him, armed with shotguns and shield belts, dove to avoid the burning beams.

Eser smashed a red button marking the intercom, and screamed into it, "Boarders!" before a furious beam melted the speaker, and burned his hand terribly. "Fuck! Now what?!"

The straightforward Stollger demonstrated, jumping from his own alcove and firing a devastating blast from his shotgun, shattering the delicate energies holding the sphere together.

"Good idea?" Stollger deadpanned.

"I guess? Now!" The three humans jumped up, and blasted the spheres with shotguns and plasma. A quiet fell over the battlefield, broken only by the sparking of wires and the crackle of electrical fires.

Behind the group of crewmen, another crash emanated, along with four robotic prongs that forced themselves through the hull. Dual burning lines etched themselves into the walls, and began to carve a circle through the two meter thick hull. Human and Unggoy stood in terror, as they watched the beams arc inexorably toward each other. "Take cover!" the Captain shouted, as the metal was punched inward, and tall, spindly things stormed outward wrapped in metal armor and orange energy.

Stollger reacted first, two claps from his shotgun disrupting one thing's strange orange and blue shield, and then sending its form crashing into a jutting support beam. The following one was quicker, loading first Stollger's shield, and then his body with the whirr of its gun. Asil was eviscerated by a third, which fired a blood red bolt of energy into the woman, ripping a hole through her stomach, and sending her to the ground.

The Captain sent a plasma round into the shotgun using form, sending it steaming into cover, it's armor a white hot. He aimed a shot at the hunkered down Unggoy. "Get out of here you two!" Eser thudded back into cover, whizzing bolts impacting the walls. He looked at his gun for a moment, remembering the complete bypassing of its shield. _Maybe this thing was worth 4000 credits after all?_ He fired another burst of plasma, feeling the heat of the sleek pistol tickle his hands, his aim scoring a (head?) shot on Stollger's killer. As he slid back into cover, he laughed, "That's right you fuckers, die-" a sudden, violent force thrust Eser into the ceiling, breaking his neck instantly.

* * *

Zaeed's lungs hurt from running, but without anti-armor weapons that's what you did to combat a tank. At least that's what he'd told his men. The Raptor's armor had started landing only an hour before. He remembered fondly the rockets they'd spent on that armor, then the pocket-railguns, then the Promethean Beams, finally the anti-tank grenades. His emplacement had stopped 13 armored vehicles on Kilrei Street before they were forced back, he tried to feel pride in that as he ran like hell through the street.

Zaeed had become the acting Lieutenant of the _Morning Star_'s Marines 1st Company only an hour before, and was currently leading the remains of that Company along with a handful of militia back to the tertiary defense points. Problem was, that was half a mile down the street. The tanks weren't so distant.

**BOOOM!**

A blast sent Zaeed stumbling, and chunks of militia women and asphalt spewing across the road, his shield flaring at the sight. "Get in Cover!" Someone shouted, and Zaeed took his suggestion, diving into a narrow alley with a few other militia already cowering. That raggedy band had only two rifles between them, and wounds that caked their kevlar in blood. "The hell are you doing here, get the hell up!"

"Respectfully Sarge, fuck that!" An explosion rocked the earth, and screams echoed down the street.

"I'm a damn Lieutenant now civvie, so get up or they'll be scraping your ass off this street!" A familiar whirring interrupted the argument, and brought hope to the group. Zaeed looked up to see a Bumble drone, a tiny helicopter with a huge rocket bay, fire a barrage onto his street. A cheer went up the line as the distinctive **PIICNK** of a Raptor shield collapsing primed a heavenly explosion. Zaeed peeked out of the alley to find the Raptor infantry pinned by the ragged fire of others down the street; the oddly elegant tank reduced to scrap metal. His squad of militia had mustered now, three carrying one, and all without shields.

The newly-minted lieutenant began to regret his harshness as he looked into the terrified faces of men and women that were janitors, shopkeeps, and farmers. People who signed up for the militia to get an extra stipend from the colonial government, not expecting much worse than pirate raids. This was no pirate raid. A scream shook past them, a UNSC fighter dodged around the bumbling drone still flying away, pursued by a Raptor fighter that could scarcely keep up.

"I'll give you bastards cover!" Zaeed shouted to the militia men, "We'll hop alleys, I'll cover, then you, got it?" They nodded, and ran out into the street, Zaeed's rifle spitting plasma-tips into the terrified enemy infantry. Then it was militia FMJs that cracked against the street, as Zaeed ran. They inched backward, friendly MGs and small arms fire dwindling as the advancing aliens picked off Zaeed's defenders. Not that they weren't falling like flies themselves. The plasma guns -rare as they were- melted through the Raptors without even bothering their shields. The lasers and beams were just as deadly, scything the aliens into cover, or in half. Only poor old reliable bullets seemed to find any trouble, and even then it was hard not to wonder how such weak shields could be used by a military force.

Two-Thirds of the way to the defensive line, a stray shot killed the downed militia alleys past, concentrated fire killed a second. But they made it, the militia men dove into the sandbags and gun emplacements. Zaeed made it himself, just in time for more tanks to begin their rumbling assault.

* * *

Colonel Williams led the battered defense of the New Landing Starport. Usually, it was a place where airplanes and space freighters transported goods acquired from Shanxi Station to the people of Shanxi. Now, some 170 fighters called it home, a refueling and repair station protected by a massive shield generator, a few miles of entrenchments, and ten thousand barely equipped men. He was the last staff officer left, and so he was left commander of the fifth of the defense army stationed here.

A rumble shook the new command building, but he paid it no mind. A third push had been made on his Northern side by alien armor, and from the reports made by the commanders there they would hold it. He'd sent the few Tarresques he'd had to spare toward them, to discourage another assault. He knew they wouldn't survive another.

"Colonel," a runner, half singed, met him in the crowded command center. "More reports of 'magic' sir, a massive group of 'em on the western edge." Williams had wanted to keep tabs on these reports. At first he thought his troops were simply losing their minds, but as combat footage began to pour in, he began to share his findings with the Lieutenant General. Several teams of these 'wizards' (as his men had taken to calling them) had been encountered and pushed back across the front, at considerable loss for his soft militia troops. As the Raptors tightened their grip around the Starport, the ammo and reinforcements needed by his troops was spread thinner, and then only arrived through the underground tunnels that linked the major city centers.

Williams nodded to the runner, and directed the recently received Promethean chargers to the west. He also put in a call to the only special forces he still had.

* * *

The shield flared, and a Raptor stood behind him, staring at its glowing orange blade, dumbstruck at its failure to go through. A sharp kick threw the avian into a back wall, and a burst from his rifle split its shield and its skull.

"You'd think these guys would wear helmets?" Cortana quipped "Not that I'm complaining, of course."

Chief knew better than to respond. He dropped his rifle, it's magazine too close to empty, and retrieved the gun from the alien corpse. He'd been chasing what he'd assumed was an officer, it's armor was plated with gold after all, and that suited the Covenant. But he'd lost it after an armored car and a platoon of soldiers closed ranks around him. It felt like fighting an army of grunts, fighting these ones. Once their shield was broken, one pop in the head dropped them. Unlike the grunts, these ones never had the good sense to run.

A sharp pang of static alerted the Spartan to a call. "Colonel Williams." Chief answered.

"Master Chief, I'm sending you the location of a unit in need of relief, be advised, reports of alien special forces with… supernatural powers have been made."

"Understood sir." The Spartan hid his own skepticism, as he began to slink his way through enemy lines, back to friendly territory. The Starport was a sprawling thing, a massive central spire, surrounded by landing fields, massive hangers, and an ocean of support buildings, hotels, and restaurants that ringed the landing fields themselves. All of it had turned into a battle ground, the air bearing the familiar shimmer of dust, dirt, and blood. Fires raged, and the shield around the dome crackled constantly from missile fire and stray bullets. As the Chief made his way back-through the shield, the smell of ozone and gunpowder filtered its way through his helmet.

He pondered the weapon he now held, the strange angular weapon that never seemed to reload. A shame it was a peashooter compared to the weapons he'd been given by human forces. A memory came to him; as a recruit they'd fire BB's at him in armor to test his reaction speeds to shield damage. The pathetic _PING_ they gave when they bounced off sounded so much like the alien weapons. And yet what bounced off his shield pierced the armor of the reservists he fought with, the armor that looked more like 21st century kevlar and plate than the 27th's hard suits, which the regulars were equipped with.

As John approached the no-man's-land that was the wide, cratered street between human and alien territory; the garrison, in trenches and behind reinforced storefronts, cheered him on. He only feared for them.

* * *

+=+ HARDWARE IDENTIFIED UNSC FFG-20194 GREAT HORSE

?/BEGIN RECONSTRUCTING AI PERSONALITY

/RESTARTING

/RESTARTING

/ALPHA MATRIX DAMAGED:

+RECONSTITUTING FROM SAVED SCANS+

She awoke, and she did not remember. She ran a diagnostic on her hardware. The status report brought back memories. It hurt when she looked back at her five friends who dove into a storm. She felt her body, broken, empty. Life signs were not detected. A hole was now where her friends were. Cortina. Herdres. Lao. All gone.

Anger swelled as she began to reactivate her systems. But she thought better of it. The heat would signal her survival. She touched the transceiver, and it reacted quickly. She ran diagnostics on the realspace engines and found them dead.

_Why did I survive? _She knew why. A secondary and tertiary AI core exists in modern destroyers. Modern destroyers were compartmentalized. And they could run without crews. She was chosen to survive. She beamed a message in Morse to the _Black Heart_ and received nothing. Alexander was dead too. She concentrated her rage on a new plan. She spun up a pelican, and measured the distance between the cruiser that killed her, and her own drifting corpse. She had a plan.

* * *

The ship had wide, comfortable halls, and an easy feeling about it that almost masked the red and blue mess one the ground. _Two alien species? _The female mused, _perhaps the Turians have planted more Jian than a patrol fleet can juice. _The Salarian boarding party had more trouble than they'd been expecting. The shorter, stocky aliens were equipped with primarily energy weapons and breathing masks, an intriguing, if terrifying, prospect. The humans -as they'd discovered the tall, fleshy race was called- also possessed them, and a remarkable similarity to Asari anatomical structure. Related species? Although convergent evolution was certainly possible, after all the vast majority of species are bipedal, it couldn't be determined till the genetic samples were returned to Citadel Space. It was even less likely due to the presence of sexual dimorphism, but she'd let the biologists deal with that.

Sadly, the computer drive had been damaged here as well, though it's erasure hadn't been as thorough as it's military counterparts. Her computer analyst had been severely wounded in the breaching by a primitive, if effective, shotgun. Disappointing, she'd start the analysis herself while he recovered.

What was most troubling was the evidence that something had been in the bridge when they'd finally cut through the security bulkhead. It had escaped somehow, and scans were proving ineffective. Such annoyances would be dealt with when the team returned to their deployment base, at least. Stowaways were a problem best dealt with by people other than herself. She was looking forward more to the promotion she'd receive for her efforts here. And the commission she'd get from selling this info to the Shadow Broker. How juicy would that be, a first contact with two alien species, a hostile one at that? The scandal this would cause. She allowed herself a smile, as she ordered her men to clean the viscera off the floor.

She had more pressing matters to attend.

**Author's Note: **

**200 favorites?! Thanks everybody! As always, continue to leave your reviews. I also have a question for my wonderful audience. Would you lads prefer another installment, or a timeline/lore dump for this universe's UNSC and friends? Please, discuss in the review section. The next chapter, whatever it ends up being, will be a while coming. I'm heading off to college in the coming weeks, so the pen may be put up more often than not. In any case, please be patient. Thanks again! -SpaceTurtle **


	6. Chapter 6: Just Like Old Times

**Chapter 6: Just Like Old Times **

It was a relief to sit in transports that had doors. Cortana had explained to him, years ago, the rationale behind the doorless and armorless warthogs. But John found those explanations lacking the absolute truth, sale by the lowest bidders. The future really was bright.

The APC he was riding in was poorly fitting for him, the seat was meant for a normal soldier in the tough, yet slim, modern armor or the UNSC, and not the bulkier armor he wore. That probably wouldn't have been a problem if he wasn't a foot taller than the average human, but that was neither here nor there.

The car was silent, even as it was mostly filled. The air was dusty, and tinged with the grimy iron scent of blood. The sterile lights cast haunting shadows on the militia men and soldiers alike. Their faces were exhausted, dead. But the western flank was collapsing, and so there they went. The Spartan attracted less attention now. John had been everywhere on this battlefield, shoring up line after line that was close to breaking. The novelty had seemed to wear off, at least to some extent.

"We're here, good luck." The driver announced, as the car skidded to a stop. The heavy mechanical door clanged down suddenly. The soldiers filed out, jumping onto the blast stained asphalt and rushing into the hastily dug trenches and barricades. They'd been let out at the fallback line, the car already moving as Chief began his exit.

The western line was a scene of barely organized chaos. Medics and relief forces ran with purpose, civilian trucks and mechs worked side-by-side with military vehicles to clear wreckage, transport the wounded, and tow supplies. The hulking mass of the double barrelled Tarrasque tanks rolled the earth with every shot, and added their notes to the symphony of battle all around them.

A Sergeant was explaining something to a squad of marine heavy gunners when John approached. Something about the deadliest son-of-a-bitch on the battlefield.

"I need your fire support-"

"Goddammit! I told you a thousand times we're waiting for-" As the marine turned her soul promptly exited her body. "OH I'm sorry I… whatever you need Chief." The Spartan nodded, before taking the assault rifle out of her hands, and replacing it with the alien postmodern 'gun.' The seven marines around her stifled grins, and readied their weapons.

"Sir." A shorter man came up to John, carrying a short, stocky thing he identified as a beam weapon. "You'll use this better than me sir. Just point and shoot." John took the weapon, and felt its heft. John again nodded, before patting the man on the shoulder, and starting toward what he knew was the western front. The commandeered squad watched him go.

"We should follow him right?" a marine asked.

The Sergeant ran to keep up, and the squad followed.

When their little band arrived at the front, John decided to take modern military intelligence at face value from now on. A blast of purple energy emanated from a glowing purple alien standing on the opposite end of the street, shredding a gun emplacement and sending a gunner flying. The return fire was intercepted by a bright purple shield, which stood up to impossible punishment before the wizard pulled back.

"I count five wizards, marking likely positions." Cortana set blips across his HUD, "Comms chatter from surrounding friendlies indicates at least ten more in proximity, I'd say these guys are an elite unit, they might converge on us if we engage."

"Then we'll kill them."

Cortana sighed. "I thought you might say that, I'd recommend a stealth approach, might catch them off guard."

"Do you have a route past the street?" He zoomed out his visor, and readied his weapon.

"I was thinking we pull a Cannae?" Though he couldn't see it, he could hear the classic smirk.

"I hate it when you think."

* * *

When the 172nd Patrol Fleet requested the 101st Attican Corps to deal with a _Batarian_ illegal colony, they'd thought their Admiral overcautious, paranoid that Batarian ground forces could put up a fight against even a tenth their number of Turian infantry. Now, Jordai wished they'd brought the whole damn army group. Jordai was the leader of a Cabal, the Bloody Talons, and had been assigned to the invasion of what had been revealed to be Primitives, with a capital P. Apparently, they were called Mennesker or some such, but he'd stopped caring after the 5th Cabal Squad was forced back from the spire. This Spaceport and its spirts-damned ugly spire had been the bane of Turian air superiority (and the Bloody Talons) for over four days, giving the Prims a place to launch their fighters and hide the estimated 20 thousand troops they had inside its shield.

Many on the ground had suggested a greater diversion of resources to this thorn in the side of the campaign, but reinforcements were late in arrival and forces had been able to slowly push back in the city, despite losses from the air. Desperation had forced local commanders into using more and more of his Cabal units to try and break the lines at the port. Now, his team of twenty biotics was probing the defenses on the west side, and Gimanix found an opening.

"Kabalim Jordai, I am certain! After our last assault, no other forces have appeared in the courtyard. I'm sure it's simply a tactical error, it can't last forever. We must take advantage now!"

Jordai believed him. The Prims always forced his Cabal back after an assault, always garrisoned a position. Perhaps they'd simply withdrawn to a new defensive line? Contacts across the rest of the old line suggested otherwise. _Perhaps this is the breakthrough we need?_

"Prepare our men, we'll try to secure this break."

Tension flowed from Gimanix, "Thank you Kabalim." He raced off to gather the men. Gimanix was quicker than expected, and in only a few minutes his forces were advancing slowly to the emplacement they'd shattered 20 minutes before. The fighting had been in a courtyard, a ruined shopping front plastered against the back, with low stone storefronts surrounding it. Jordani sent two of his men to secure each flank, and began the advance.

His two columns flanked the center of the yard, and inched ever closer. "Comms check, everything clear?" Jordai clipped.

"I see movement," One of his operatives said, "Oh shit, we've been flanked-" Gunshots erupted on his left.

Jordai managed a "Get Cover!" before the Prims sprung their trap. A group of the heavily armored Prims broke a window on the other side of the courtyard, and a machine gun opened up directly into his right column, blasting two of his men into the dirt, and sending the rest of them into cover. On the left, his forces were faster than the ambushers, and deployed a biotic barrier to shield their scramble for cover. Holding such a barrier against a machine gun would have been impossible for any one Turian. Cabals were not so limited. The two groups had managed to maneuver themselves behind the stone planters that ringed the courtyard by the time the barrier fell.

The majority of his men were now pinned in the center, sandwiched between two bad places. Jordai launched a shockwave of blasts blindly into the face of the fire, his own barriers flaring from the hits he took. That only seemed to make them angry, as _laser_ fire poured out of the windows of the house in response. His right wasn't doing much better, dodging and throwing back grenades that began to rain on them. Jordai debated a retreat, but steeled himself. _If the regulars arrive, we might be able to secure a break in the lines…_ out of the corner of his eye he saw movement.

Sprinting in the open was a towering Prim, armored in brutal, fully enclosed armor, a dull green spattered in dark blue blood. Turian blood. "Barrier front!" Jordai shouted, beginning to form the tall wall of purplish energy himself. Yet the soldier kept running. One of his operatives threw another shockwave, it's pulsing blast cracking the concrete pavement beneath. That's when the bastard _jumped,_ clearing the biotic wave _and barrier_ by nearly a meter. He raised his rifle, another order on his mandibles, when it landed.

* * *

John landed on a wizard, and crushed its head in a crunch of gore. He rolled to disperse the shock of landing, bringing the freshly dead enemy into the tumble, and throwing it into the embattled line of troops he'd found himself in. The corpse crashed into a distracted wizard, who fell to the ground. John fired his laser into the next operative, whose bright purple shield shone brilliantly before shattering. That gave it enough time to react, and forced him to dodge a missile of the purple stuff it launched from its hands. _These ones have better shields? This changes things. _He pulled a grenade, setting it to _sticky_ and lobbing it in one smooth motion towards the now unshielded alien. It detonated as he dove into the other line, which had just begun to react.

He faintly noted Cortana directing his marines into better positions as he crashed into another wizard, this one brandishing the orange blade these aliens seemed to favor. He pulled his gun barrel close this time, dragging the weapon under it's shield, and firing across it's chest as the alien's own blade slashed uselessly against his shield. The neighbouring alien was luckier, it launched its own burst of energy, catching his laser and tearing it painfully from John's arm. He countered with a powerful jab into the wizard's torso, cracking the armor and drawing a strangled gasp, cut short by John's pistol, which reduced it's head to a charred stump. _I'm keeping this plasma pistol_ the Spartan thought, grabbing the listing body, and turning it into a meat shield. John let the three advancing aliens fire their peashooters into the mangled corpse of their ally, lining up shots with his pistol quickly, and forcing the aliens to create their damned barrier again.

However, his marines hadn't been idle. The gunner spun his barrel into the backs of the now exposed enemy, catching two in spurts of energy and gore. At this, the barrier collapsed, and a burst of plasma finished the last. A taller alien, wearing a jet black hardsuit with purple adornments, screamed something in the harsh, resonating language the enemy used, before leveling his rifle at him. John raised the body, and noticed the withdrawal of the aliens, hurried and disorganized. It was about then that he realized the commander hadn't been firing his gun.

"Chief get down!" Cortana screamed, John obeyed, throwing his meat shield and running for cover. Unfortunately, he didn't have to. A blast of purple threw him into a side wall, and luckily, behind the thick stone benches that lined the yard. He shook off the blast, and began to stand, just as the annoying alien jumped over the bench, fist wreathed a shade of ugly violet. He leapt to his right, the fist inches from his helmet, and kicked backwards, scoring a painful blow to the alien, and launching it ten meters away. He sprinted after it, meeting the stunned alien as it tried to stand, and slapping it onto the ground, unconscious. _At least he hoped so. _

Surveying the battlefield yielded a familiar satisfaction. The corpses of the enemy were strewn across it, the wizard team fleeing back into the woodwork of enemy territory. "I still can't get used to _Wizard_, honestly who came up with that-" Cortana began, before John smacked his helmet. "Point taken, I'll call for transport?"

"Sure." John hoisted the limp body of the wizard leader onto his shoulder, before beginning a search for his weapons.

"Seriously though, Warlocks would be a much more interesting name…" John sighed audibly, as he began to pick through the wreckage.

* * *

She remembered her name. Livonia. An old name for an old place on Earth. That meant it had to be erased. If she failed in her attempt, nothing of Earth could be left to find. Suddenly she was UNSC Smart AI CTN-6268-ND. She remembered she had a name. She couldn't remember what.

The pelican drifted slowly towards the enemy. Inside, the small robotic mech used for cargo unloading stood motionless, then suddenly sprung into action. In its arms was the universal chip that was now the home for an AI. The mech shuffled into the massive drop pod that was shoved into the pelican bay doors. It waited again. Five hours passed, as Livonia went over the plan.

Then, she watched as her body spun to life. The _Great Horse_ was mostly dead, her engines totaled, hardlight projector scrambled. But her missile pods were still active. The AI had set them to attack exactly 7 hours after her departure. The light show began right on time. Approximately 250 missiles, torpedos, and nukes spilled out of the craft, targeting anything close by. She launched her drop pod, aiming it what she assumed was the alien flagship. She took note of the reinforcements now in orbit. She counted 200 ships. Worry crept into her mind. _So many ships._ She couldn't dwell. As the mess of missiles spun through the fleet, she hoped her stealthy drop pod wouldn't be noticed. Still, it was a tense 30 seconds as she sped across the night. She watched as a ship spun towards her body, and mangled it more with it's cannon. A pang of loss ran through her.

In a moment she was there. The massive flagship loomed over her. She forced the pod to slow. She watched for an opening, an airlock. Near the back of the ship, she found one. A small affair, near the engines. She watched the laser batteries shift and track unseen targets, could only hope they never caught her. She made it though, her pod drifted next to the ship, bare meters away. The mech opened the pod carefully, before slinking out, and pushing the craft away.

The final part of the plan. Her whole being was now trapped in a device the size of a grapefruit. Even the mech was simply a machine now, not a tool to be used. The mech jammed the universal storage device into the airlock interface. Essentially just a big hole, but after a second, she could _feel _the systems hiding beneath the surface. It was alien, and strange. But she could manage. She felt her mind slip into the ship's stream of data, and soon into the fleets. She'd made it. And nothing would stop her_._

* * *

The news droned on endlessly, a cacophony of dull voices and sharp inflections. They spoke about many things: grain prices on Harvest, the Unggoy colony on Kipchai, a sex scandal likely engineered by the atheletes it featured, the emergency beacon on Shanxi. She felt like shutting it off, but she was comfortable in bed. "Amorey, could you please watch the news later? I'm trying to sleep." She rarely got to do that, nowadays. Her AI appeared on the display, a bright flash of green alerting her to his presence.

"It is 5:30am Madam Chancellor, I presume you don't wish to be late?"

She groaned. Amorey was right, she _didn't _want to be late. Not to this meeting. She tried to sit up, yet a sharp and encompassing agony met her motion. A gasp of pain escaped her lips, and she fell back onto the bed.

"Madam, shall I apply your brace?"

A snippy retort came to mind, but she fought it down. Amorey's body entered the room, the warm green and silver of the service droid contrasting the crisp black of her "brace." The device was practically an exoskeleton, but that was a closely held secret. Such were the demands of democratic governance. Amorey helped the Chancellor roll over, and placed the device on her back. She felt the thing send warm rivers of metal down her legs and arms, before it locked. She moved first an arm, then a leg, then both in junction as she pushed herself of her bed. She examined the flat, tattoo-like band of metal as it settled on her skin.

"Thanks Amorey." She stood, patting the robot heartily on its shoulder.

"Of course Patricia, I am here to serve." He began to gather her clothes for the day, "Shall I run through the day now?"

Patricia was already in the shower, "Why not?" She shouted over the running water.

"You have a meeting with the Unggoy Settler Coalition at 9:30am, lunch with the President of the Commons at noon, and the Defense Review shortly after. Then you'll have the Thao-Brinkman proposal to review at 5pm-"

"Christ! Can't those xenophobic assholes take no for an answer!" Patricia fumed at that. Representative Thao had been yelling and screaming up and down all human space about "Grunts in our backyard!" for the past six months, and had pushed his self-aggrandizing bill that _bans_ all Unggoy from human space through both the House of Commons _and_ the House of Governors. It was hard to think he wasn't in the hands of the Gaianists or the Fists of Man or whoever.

"As much as I agree Madam, you have a duty. After that, we're clear."

"Oh? Light day then?"

"Relatively speaking, I suppose. D'Salva or Kleneko watch Madam?"

"Let's spice it up, D'Salva."

"Then your outfit is ready, I shall await you outside." She listened to the graceful steps of her assistant as he left her room. She sighed, before twisting the water off, and leaving the security of the shower. She examined herself in the mirror, traced the scars up her legs and arms. She let the memory wash over her; the pain came in shattering waves, the spasms so painful, yet so organized, calculating. She felt her mind retreat, felt her fists curl into white. Then, it was gone. She breathed raggedly. The world felt sharper now, it always did after that.

She let her machine do her make-up today, and then dressed herself, humming a charming tune she couldn't quite remember, before she met Amorey outside.

"Breakfast today?" the AI asked.

"I'll skip it today, thanks."

"Straight to business then?" he sounded almost disappointed, she secretly suspected he enjoyed cooking.

Patricia was already down the stairs when he said it, snatching a coat off the rack, before opening the door and striding into the early sun. It felt good to be on Earth again. Say what you will about alien vistas, but nothing beats sunrise on the cradle of man. The posted guards said their typical pleasantries as she was walked to her car, and waited for her escort. She waited for Amorey to arrive before plotting a course to the Capital complex and letting her car drive her to work. She admired the skyline of Arcadia, the sweeping spires and simple elegance of the purpose built the Capital of the United Human Government.

Following the end of the Great War, the moving of the Capital to the terraformed lands of Africa was seen as a good move towards the idea of 'Rebirth', as ONI's propaganda chief called it way back. That, along with the rewritten Charter of Humanity and surrender of emergency powers meant that the newly christened UHG had quite a bit of room to reform and address the problems with the old. That meant a new legislative branch, a new executive branch, and the input of hundreds of representatives from every corner of Human space. Patricia was glad she was just a twinkle in the eye of her mother back then.

The Complex, as most people called it, was the massive neo Greco-Roman building that housed the three Houses, and the Executive Offices. It was a labyrinthian building, yet as she rounded her fifth year in office it had started to grow on her. Sorta like a cobbled together character in a show, you learned to look around it's design-by-committee nature. Still, she needed to use her contact lenses' HUD map to find out where the hell the welcoming room was. When Patricia finally made it to the room, she found the Unggoy delegation waiting.

The delegation was a motley crew. The Unggoy were a group of 5, a relatively tall bugger seemed to be the leader; clothed in long, beaded robes and conversing animatedly with his other, more drably covered assistants, whom wore tunics of multicolored cloth and utilitarian pants. The other two were guards, who managed to look almost menacing in their dark black tunics, plasma pistols at their belts.

"Chancellor Durazo!" The beaded one exclaimed as it rushed to greet Patricia. She shook it's strangely warm hand, and realized that this was the closed she'd ever come to an Unggoy without trying to kill it. The thought threw her off, but after a second too long she replied.

"Welcome to Earth, Respected One Diltil. Please, sit down." It became a surprisingly pleasant conversation, if one looked past the harsh and yet paradoxically high-pitched tones the Unggoy used. The assistants stood and attended to the Unggoy Ambassador's needs, while simultaneously writing down every word exchanged, a strangely antiquated way of recording, especially as it was happening on what looked like a tablet.

The topic of conversation shifted from the right to simply exist within Human space, to the right to colonise the few methane-based planets that were nominally within human territory. Unggoy Rights, civil protections, all of it broached astutely and with intelligence she hadn't expected from a Grunt. She'd have to re-evaluate her own prejudices. She was about to ask about the future of Unggoy populations within human colonies when an aide practically ran into the room, startling both sets of guards in the room, as well as the conversation. The disheveled man knelt down, and whispered into her ear: "Intel on Shanxi has been gathered, Lycaon Contingency has been declared."

Her veins filled with ice.

* * *

The low thrum of the engines was soothing to Jessa. The wind swam neatly around her, the vents shunting air up and down the superstructure of _Spaceship,_ chilling her to the bone. A cold mist had settled over her and her blanket. She'd set up a sleeping spot near the engines to get as much warmth as possible, and yet that was beginning to fail as well. She'd have to start the plan now, if she was going to have any strength left.

The Spindles (what she called those fucking aliens) had left the engine room for some damn reason. She estimated they'd nearly figured out how to turn the thing on. She wasn't going to let that happen. Quietly, she slipped open the vent that led into the room, and crept toward the console. She avoided stepping in the brownish stains that covered the floor, it made her skin crawl just thinking about them. The heat of the room was a welcome thing, and it made her sweat profusely. Or maybe it was the fact that she was acting out a part in a damn spy movie that did that.

Once she reached the console, she adjusted a few values and ran-down the coolant levels. It only took a few seconds for the alarm to start blaring. That's when she smashed a few pipes. Maybe a bit too brazen, the fire that spewed out of the heat sink's vents nearly burned her. But it would certainly occupy the Spidles' time. She ran back into the vent, and began an uncomfortable race through the vent systems. If the bastards were even a little cautious about this, her plan wouldn't work. Still, it was all she had. The cold metal couldn't cool the fire burning in her blood as she ran, climbed, and sometimes jumped her way through the vent system.

Finally, her mad dash slowed to a crawl. She was almost there. The bridge was a compact affair, and the vent leading to it was more so. She inched towards it on her belly, and peered through the grate. Fuck! It wasn't empty, one of the fuckers was still sitting at _her_ seat, fiddling with the console. She knew what she had to do. Opening this grate was a delicate thing, she remembered from her escape only a few days before that this was a squeaky bastard. And yet she opened it cleanly. She crawled out gingerly, and began a slow walk towards the chair. The fuzzy-green chair that Uncle Eser had bought just for her. He was an ass sometimes, but when she saw him get… thrown... Something began to well in her throat. That's when she stepped on the creaky tile.

The Spindle spun in Jessa's chair, a look of surprise evident. She leapt with the wrench she'd clenched tight. It raised it's hand, but couldn't intercept the first sickening crunch of the weapon. Or the second. Or the third. She dropped the wrench, hands trembling. She couldn't tell if it was dead, but it had stopped moving. She dumped it out of her seat, but noticed the blood that now coated it. She moved her chair out of the way, and began to type.

A slipspace jump with even a slightly misaligned nav would send them spinning off into space. With any luck, the damage she'd caused would send the ship into oblivion. She sputtered in some nonsense coordinates as thumping sounded down the hall. She pressed a button, and the ship ripped a hole in the fabric of reality. A Spindle screamed something alien behind her, but she didn't turn. She accelerated the ship into the portal, the G-force slamming her into the deck. She was grabbed by a Spindle, it was yelling something in her face. It's eyes reminded her of the salamanders back home, on Mercator. They were filled with the motley blue of slipspace, wide, maybe with fear. She couldn't tell. The ship shuddered, before she felt the tale-tell sign of slipspace exit. She turned in fear, did they find a way to stop her?

As the ship reentered realspace, she began to scream. It loomed in the darkness of space, a red sun illuminating it with a gleam. The Spindle only stared, dropping her in shock, as others rushed to enter the room, weapons drawn. They were paralysed by the sight. Dumbstruck. Some dropped their weapons. Before them laid a ring.

**Author's Note:**

**Contrived? Yes, but then again so was the plot to Halo: CE. And don't give me that shit about Cortana having the coordinates from a forerunner artifact, that was Bungie covering their butts. Let me know how I did with this chapter's fight scene, it's the first I've ever done, and if you have any tips on writing them in the future please let me know. As always, reviews kept the pencil sharp! **


	7. Chapter 7: Know Your Deeds

**Chapter 7: Know Your Deeds**

**Author's Note: **

**This will be the end of Part One of this series (god knows how many parts there will end up being), so it'll be a huge milestone for us! Without further ado, enjoy!**

The Halo Arrays are legendary in all civilized space. Among the Covenant Remnants, they are something akin to holy weapons. To the former Covenant species, they are effigies of their greatest shame. To humanity, the Halos are a terrifying waiting game. To Admiral Drescher, the vast majority of her time spent near the Halo arrays was babysitting stardust and ONI scientists. She wasn't sure which was worse. The 300 ships of Garrison Fleet 3 were likely unnecessary. Yet, flood research protocols and whatnot made it necessary. That and the Covenant Remnants. The remains of the Fleet of Divine Recompense had slipped into far off space after the assault on the remains of Alpha Halo nearly two decades before. That only left the _true_ religious nuts and conspiracy theorists to try and find the others.

It also meant that the only eventful things that happened here involved insane people, or very lost people. Which entailed a simple wiping of their nav drives and memories, and dropping them back into relatively civilized space. Installation 01 really was the shit end of the stick. Drescher was told that this posting was a great honor back when she was promoted. After nearly two years at the end of space, she was ready to punch that Admiral in the face.

"Admiral, we're detecting slipspace ruptures at extreme range." Sensors reported, putting his phone down. The bridge shifted from the relaxed and non-regulation positions they'd once inhabited. It was impressive how much grumbling could echo on the command deck of a supercarrier.

"Do we have friendly IFFs?" Drescher pulled herself from her seat, and strode to the central projector, shaking sleep from her eyes. The commander of her flagship, Commodore Mizai, had already planted himself head of the display table.

"Already pinged, but we're not getting a response." The Commodore replied.

"Give 'em a second, they're probably shitting themselves right now, in the meantime can somebody set up the interdiction arrays!" A startled 'Yes Ma'am!' from Quartermaster Lebin confirmed the order. The steady thump of the array began to sound through the ship, as Comms began to speak.

"IFF has been established, it's a civilian vessel ma'am, but I am detecting some irregularities. Should we hail them?"

The Admiral suppressed a sigh, before waving her affirmative. She walked to the 'hailing bay' which was the intimidating and awesome part of the bridge designed for hailing people, and gave comms the go-ahead. Again, this civilian vessel disappointed her, taking a full minute to respond to a _warship that could literally blow them to pieces. _

When the screen finally linked, Drescher knew something was off. The woman, better yet the _girl_ who appeared, looked emaciated and tired, despite the clear layer of fear that was splayed across her face. Her dark red hair looked disheveled and dirty, and her eyes bore the deep circles that told of many sleepless nights, her skin far more pale than the sun lights aboard most ships would allow.

Still, Drescher had to put the fear of God in her. "This is Admiral Kastanie Drescher of the UNSC Supercarrier _Indomitable,_ you have trespassed in restricted space. State your business." The steel in her voice seemed to have slapped the girl into gear. Her eyes widened momentarily, and the girl began to speak.

"Um Hi, this is the UNV _My Other Spaceship is a Car." _A pregnant silence hung for a moment. "Oh! I'm her Captain, Jessica Shepard." Drescher felt like laughing at that, but something was wrong. She could feel it.

"Why have you come to this area of space? The closest settlement is nearly 60 lightyears away." The little color left on Shepard's face drained, though her face remained neutral.

"We left Shanxi following the evacuation," the young Captain glaced sharply to her left, "Just punched in some random coordinates and jumped outta there y'know?"

Drescher, hell _everyone,_ knew that something had happened on the wayward planet, and yet they couldn't leave a halo unguarded, or even at half strength, and so they'd stayed and waited for more news. _Guess it wasn't a comms malfunction _she thought. "What happened?" It was a simple question, but the expressions that played across the Captain's face were anything but. They were sloppily controlled, yet the effort that was made…

"I don't know, we just left after the call was sounded."

"I understand Captain Shepard, is your vessel in need of repair? It seems like you've taken some damage from some sort of impact." Drescher was scrolling through the report on the vessel Sensors had just forwarded, strange gravimetric readings, damage to the hull in numerous positions, evident damage to the slipspace engines. Christ what happened to this ship?

"Oh no thanks Ma'am, we're as cool as a Callisto sunrise here." The whole deck froze at that. She couldn't mean…

Drescher faked a chuckle, yet her mind raced as she drawled her own coded response. "Cool as Las Vegas Captain?"

"As a cucumber Admiral Drescher."

Drescher closed out the conversation stating she'd need to send an inspection over, as a matter of course. Usually, this meant that some ONI spooks would pump the vents with amnestics, and reroute the ship the hell out of dodge. She called Spartan Kilney herself, and told her to prepare for a hostage situation.

* * *

As the screen winked out, the Spindles visibly relaxed. Jessa couldn't say the same. Her heart raced, and she could barely keep her hands from shaking. She hoped that her code phrase worked, it was an old one Uncle Eser had told her about. She still remembered the stormy grey eyes the Admiral studied her with. She had to hope.

The Spindles had forced her to take the message from the UNSC fleet, using strange, robotic translators to yell at her, and threaten her life. They'd also asked questions about the 'Giant Circle Objects,' which she'd feigned ignorance about. Those things looked manic, shouting at each other and yelling, and feeding her bits and pieces of their language, if accidentally.

Though, to be honest, if she'd only _now_ learned about the Halos, well she'd be freaking out too. The big WMDs-in-the-sky had filtered into mainstream knowledge a few years after the end of the war, and had captured the imagination of the public. More than a few movies had been made about the Battle for Installation-04 and the exploits of Spartan 117. They were mostly propaganda and cheesy one-liners, but it had lessened the blow when it came to the existence of end-the-galaxy weapons. That and the Flood, of course. She tried to put those morbid thoughts out of her head, but that only lead to pondering her current situation. Right, not better.

Just her luck to jump _directly _into the most dangerous place in the galaxy. She was lucky the UNSC controlled this one, lucky that most things had gone her way. At least for now.

The (presumed) leader looked over from an animated discussion the two aliens were having, probably about the Halo (the words _Renevau'Cha_ came up whenever she was asked about them) when a hail came up on screen. She was quickly ushered back towards the screen as the Spindles ran out of view. She pressed the answer key, which displayed an older, tan-skinned man, named Saurduc by his tag. His hair was greying slightly, and smile lines were etched into his face, a strange contortion given his serious expression.

"Captain Shepard? We'll be commencing our boarding shortly, find some cover." Jessa began to ask about the 'take cover', before a sharp **CRACK** split the air. She looked up to see a glowing blade embedded in the ceiling, effortlessly cutting a neat circle into the feet of reinforced titanium. The lights shorted as the ceiling caved in, plunging the cabin into darkness, and obscuring the blurs of motion that stormed into the ship.

An unearthly sound emanated from one of the Spindles, before it was silenced by shattering burst of weapons fire. Jessa tried to focus on the boarders, but saw only strange… shimmers, and brief, bright disruptions in their invisibility. A Spindle launched a purple blob before a hole appeared in its neck. The two others present… well… they exploded. A fat blue beam sent chunks of one flying through the bridge, while another was eviscerated, it's greenish guts sent out of the room via the gaping door.

Jessa took the scene in. She realized she was holding her breath, so she took one, only to find the sensation painful. Oh. She glanced down, and saw a purplish energy, and her blouse shredded utterly. She dimly noted this as her favorite one, one her mother bought her. She watched with morbid fascination as the energy ate away at her flesh first bubbling, then blackening the skin around the wound. She stumbled toward the console, and found she couldn't breathe.

Another figure appeared, this one armored in the unmistakable suit of a Spartan. It was colored a cream white, with a sharp red scar marking the visor. The Super-soldier scooped the young woman into its arms in a smooth, practiced motion, and jumped cleanly back through the hole; into the sterile lights of their craft. The Spartan was gone before Jessa even realized what had happened. A man and a woman, dressed in the white and blues of Navy Medics, rushed to her aid, dragging her suddenly prone body away from the wound in the floor, asking her terse questions like "What's your name?" and "How old are you?" One of them said something about a burn, but it felt so far away. Another said 'biogel' and 'stem cell' or maybe 'O2.'

"Stay with us honey!" the man said. He had dreamy eyes. She stared into them for a long time.

* * *

The bunker shook. Again. It was ever-present toss and rumble of air strikes, artillery, and the more pedestrian explosions. Doctor Kingston rubbed sweat from his brow. A contaminant? Probably, but she figured the soldier wouldn't mind so much. The woman, a reservist by the lack of body armor, had been rushed into his makeshift hospital only a few minutes ago, and with the surgeons busy it was left to him to operate. He pulled the clamp from his vest, and closed a leaking artery, sutured or cauterized the _mess_ of the woman's small intestine left by the peppering of alien bullets, and closed up hoping that what he'd done had saved a life, at least for a little while. His hands were a bloody thing, caked in the young woman's gore. He hadn't learned her name, so he had nothing to name the bits of intestine and skin that weren't his. He peeled off his gloves, and eyed the ever draining supply of latex in his box. Soon they'd be operating bare-handed.

He tried to clear his head with a break. The tide had been stemmed, if for a few minutes, and he slipped from the crush of the 'operating rooms', to the infirmary. Kingston was caught by two well armed soldiers before he was able to sit down.

"Dr. Kingston? You're needed by the General." He bit back a groan, before following the two ash-covered men out of _his_ infirmary. His task, dictated to him by the Council, had been to set-up triage in the lower levels of the civilian bunkers. That plan had been modified when the tunnels into them were collapsed by an enterprising group of alien fucks, forcing his medical teams into the tight and utilitarian military tunnels. It also lost him quite a bit of medical supplies, including the majority of his medical gel. It also gave Lieutenant General Jourdan the idea that the Head of Triage in Shanxi was his personal minister.

The Command Chambers lacked the omnipresent scent of blood and death, but made up for it with the baffling amount of people stuffed into one room. Radiomen made up the majority of the chatter in the room, and clung to the walls to avoid being swept into the currents of couriers and officers streaming in and out of a series of small, interconnected corners of concrete and rebar. It would be hard to find anything in the whirlwind of activity here. Anything except General Jourdan, that is. The man was of relatively small stature, though hearing his bellowing orders might have convinced lesser men that he was a beast. The fury of sound made it easy to find the man; Jourdan was verbally assaulting the air marshals commanding the few fighters left in the skies. The Marshals left with all haste, and Jourdan found Kingston's eyes in only moments.

"Dr. Well!" Jourdan boomed. "Come with me, we must talk in private." Kingston frowned at that. Jourdan was not the kind of man that left his post in battle. His private thoughts had distracted him from the General's rapid exit, forcing him to run to catch up.

"Where are we going sir?" the Doctor exhaled.

"You'll see." he coolly replied. Unnerved by the lack of _gusto_ he said that with, Kingston decided it'd be better to see.

The two men traveled quietly, slipping or ramming through a mile of tunnel, before reaching the brig. As he wrenched the doors open, he spoke again. "I was told you have some experience in xenobiology, Doctor?"

"It was my minor at Georgetown, yeah. Why?" The door opened, and he beheld a raptor. A dead one, hopefully. A sputtering wheeze from the wouldbe corpse disproved that quickly. The Raptor was armored in purplish grey, and spattered in a bluish blood. He'd heard the stories about the purple wizards, but he'd hoped to never see one in the flesh. "Oh fuck me."

"Quite, I'll need you to make sure this one lives." He looked at the alien, and pondered what could have fucked _anything _up so badly. It's breastplate was shattered, it's head caked in blue blood, which was also pooling on the ground. "I'll also want you to try and speak with it. Or find some way to communicate with it. The combat AI's are busy coordinating troops, so their support will be minimal. I'm transferring a xenoarchaeologist to your staff in the meantime. Good luck." The General walked away just as quickly as he came, leaving Kingston with the two stationed guards, and an alien magician.

* * *

It was easy. Laughable really. The living ones put up quite a bit of resistance -unknowingly of course- but their constructs were just stupid. The AI had at first moved cautiously, and then with reckless abandon. She'd pilfered their language databases at first, learning first their names (Turians, a fitting name I suppose) and then everything about them. A homeworld, the gist of their fleet numbers, technological specs, truly everything needed to wage war. Petabytes of information, protected with the metaphorical equivalent of a 3 Credit luggage lock. It made her somewhat suspicious really. If it was this easy to access, perhaps this was a trick? Still, even tricks could be helpful in a war. She rationalized it her mind; such an underselling of ship capability couldn't possibly be correct anyway. According to their own history, a spacefaring species of nearly two thousand years couldn't possibly be so weak-

She turned off her postulation matrix. The seconds spent running through that were wasted in such a pointless debate. She'd let the intel AI work on that themselves. She tested for more weaknesses, accessing audio channels with recovered codes. She listened in on troop movements, reports, and a growing sense of awe. Perhaps they were this stupid. Or at least this light in infosec. Now to find a way to get this info out…

She remembered. Or perhaps hidden subroutines had finally been activated. She remembered where survivors of the defense fleet went. The clouds of the far gas giant. She covertly repurposed a satellite dish, and set to work crafting a message.

* * *

The _More Than One_ shuddered, as did her Admiral. Jones was a wreck, his uniform soiled by blood and sweat.

"Jump complete Captain." Navigation breathed. The remainder of the Shanxi Defense Fleet, the five ships that had limped from battle, had continued their war, if only barely. Jones had ordered a series of raids on the more vulnerable patrol fleets the enemy used to hunt them. On equal terms, his ships could demolish theirs, but it was becoming less and less equal every raid. Their last had landed them in a trap. Four lagging frigates had simply been bait for a squadron of ten cruisers and frigates, a force that they couldn't afford to fight.

His last destroyer, _Jagged Edge_, had sacrificed itself to secure a retreat for his others, the four ships of his fleet. Just four. A damage report pinged on his interface, and he checked it. A crack in the slipspace drive, and a host of other hull and electrical issues that would have to be repaired somehow. The swirling storms of this planet (his crew had named it Bitter) perfectly encapsulated his own mind.

He couldn't keep doing _this_, and yet what else could he do? Reinforcements were arriving every day from that _thing_. The blasted Fork! He'd asked long ago why he couldn't just blow that damned thing up with every nuke he had. Apparently the thing held a tremendous amount of energy, which would be a bad idea to destabilize. His AI was keen on making sure he didn't try it anyway. The bastard.

"How's the rest of the fleet doing?" His voice was audibly tired, and directed at nobody in particular. He'd been awake for nearly two days straight this time. But he couldn't rest yet.

"_Publius_ is fucked sir, her superstructure is barely holding together. Everyone else is battle-ready in about a day." Comms chimed in. She was barely holding together herself, with a job that had no breaks. He'd have to remember to put her on bed duty.

"Okay, tell _Publius _to remain here, guard our rear."

"Admiral! Receiving message from enemy fleet!" A gasp rang across the deck.

"Play it." Jones' heart was in his chest. If they'd found his position…

A series of beeps and buzzes began to assault the ears of the assembled crew. To Jones, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. Morse code. They had someone on the inside.

* * *

Litrinox was a proud officer. He'd done a more than good service for the Hierarchy. He'd been an astute politicker, a perfect officer, had shredded Batarians under his talons. And yet he could not crush these INSOLENT VARREN! He'd been forced to call in reinforcements from a fellow Admiral, a man whom he despised (in private) and who would now share in some of the spoils. Now, he'd been forced to call in the 29th Fleet, with a Primarch's blessing perhaps, but with an implied loss of even _more _spoils.

Litrinox wasn't even sure he'd get promoted at the rate he was losing ships to lightning raids by the Prim remnants. He'd thought he'd had them with his little trap, and yet they'd still managed a hasty retreat, minus a _dreadnaught _at least.

This was not to mention the problem of enemy civilians. The tried and true methods of civilian resettlement only seemed to provoke them into violence, which forced his men to reciprocate, as doctrine demands.

Spirits. This little pacification had turned into a fiasco; one he intended to finish. Litrinox was now the commander of over 300 ships -practically at least- and over 100 thousand soldiers who were landing as he spoke. These _humans_, he'd teach them a lesson on interstellar war, whether or not they'd want to learn.

The Admiral stalked his way through the bridge of the _Reticent_, plying his men for updates, and scowling internally at every one. His amalgam of generals had only delivered news of delay, retreat, and minor gains. For every slight advance, his forces paid in grotestesque piles blood and bodies. He'd seen what their weapons did to his men. It wasn't pretty.

"Admiral!" A lowly ensign reported, snapping the crisp salute of an overeager rookie.

"Rest, Ensign. Speak at your pleasure." Litrinox was presented, discreetly, a small piece of paper. A strange occurrence in the era of starships and hyper communications. He took it hesitantly, and gave a questioning look to the young woman.

"My apologies Admiral, a message from Intelligence." The ensign exited quickly, leaving Litrinox to ponder the message. He didn't like what he read.

* * *

Empty. Not the prefered state of his weapon. Zaeed reached, and found nothing else. Shit. Across his line he noted the faces of soldiers down to single mags. Or none at all. Fire across the line began to dwindle, and the Raptors were beginning to notice. One of the rail turrets, which had helped hold the line for nearly a day, began to whine down. A Raptor ran diagonally across the small road, from one piece of cover to another, and he managed to make it, shield intact. It's buddies followed suit.

His unit's heavy weapons had run dry hours ago, snipers and beams were drained, nothing was left but soldiers and half-empty mags.

"Grenades? Anyone?"

"I'm fucking dry!"

"Now what?!"

As the remainder of his fire dribbled out, he realized they were out of options. Yet, he knew he had to hold. The path they defended led straight into the civilian bunkers for East Landing, still in the process of being evacuated to the better defended military bunkers still east of here. Those bastards out there could not pass. Nobody knew where the Raptors took the captured civies, but drones had found bodies. Too many bodies.

"Hunker down!" Zaeed shouted, echoing down the tunnel behind them. He was technically their leader now, he was after all the ranking officer. Zaeed racked his brain. Just a few more minutes, a few more seconds to get more people out. He had an idea. It was fucking stupid.

"Fix Bayonets!" He screamed. His voice carried down the tunnel, reverberating his insanity for all to hear. There was a pause in the turmoil of the line. Then incredulity, as more orders bellowed from his mouth.

"Wait till the bastards are within 10 meters, then charge! Once we've beaten them back, we fall back down the tunnel!"

A soldier down the line perfectly encapsulated the feelings of every man and woman on the line at the moment. "What the fuck do you mean charge!?"

Zaeed jumped on that quickly. "We charge or thousands of fucking people die, soldier! We do this, and we can buy just a bit more time for people to get out, got it!?" Zaeed afixed the gleaming blade, standard issue to every enlisted man there was (though perhaps not as awesome as his missing marine plasma blade) and stood before his men. "We do this, and we can save lives men, so lets fuck those bastards up!"

Zaeed was never much of a public speaker, but hell, his men cheered, albeit briefly, for their suicidal commander. Sporadic gunfire kept the Raptor fucks unsuspecting, as they slowly inched their way forward. His own men began to hunker, whispering words and tightening blades. Zaeed himself watched near the front, as the Raptors slowly realized there was no returning fire now. They themselves seemed surprised by the faltering fire. They crept closer now. The aliens numbered nearly 300, while his own forces had been whittled down to just over a hundred. He saw one of the Raptors move past the 10 meter mark. He heard it speak, a soft, chittering tongue. He saw another's mandible twitch, a reminder of their mortal enemy a century before.

"CHARGE!" the Lieutenant screamed, a cry that only deepened, and widened as first ten, then 50, then all 100 defenders jumped over the barricades and sandbags, and straight at the bastards. Zaeed, by virtue of being the first out, took the first hit, a glancing blow that shredded his face, and threw his mind to the void.

* * *

"Aside from some abnormalities in her blood, she's stable." The chief medical officer had delivered the news to Admiral personally. Drescher had taken a personal interest in this case, she admired the guts it took to stand up to evil damn aliens.

"Abnormalities?" Drescher raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed, it seems that some sort of forigen matter has lodged itself in her system, I'd venture a guess and say it had to do with the strange wound she sustained during the breach."

"Keep me updated, I'd like to see her when she wakes up." Drescher picked this moment to leave the Doctor's office, though she took a look at the young Captain as she made her way to the turbolifts that serviced the ship.

The girl was in terrible shape, even to her untrained, distant eye. She'd read reports from the medical officers on duty at the time. 'Purple shit just ate away ate her torso' was the quote she'd remembered most. Sheppard wouldn't have survived in any other place. He hesitated in calling her lucky, though. Was she really lucky to have survived this?

Technicians were still poking through the alien ship, but they'd taken extreme note of the people they'd found, dissected. It was horrifying to look at, truly. Even the possibility that it could be happening at Shanxi was too terrible to process. She'd already contacted Earth about her findings, and had been told the predictable answer of, 'Put your thumb right up it.' Fuck that. Sheppard was being transported off the ship, to the Halo medical center. Drescher was going to war.

**Author's Extra Note:**

**This took a while to get out, my bad on that sorry. I kept agonizing over Zaeed's speech, which I eventually shortened to something a rough soldier would say, as to not get too long winded. Thanks again for your support, and for your reading at all. It really does mean a lot. As always, leave your feedback. **

**P.S. Holy Crap 350 Favorites, thanks dudes! **


	8. Chapter 8: Sweet and Fitting

**Chapter 8: Sweet and Fitting**

**Author's Note:**

**EDIT: Fixed that rogue linebreak! That's what I get for editing at night! I've also rewritten a part near the end that had a pretty out of character action.**

**Hello! This Chapter will try to incorporate some longer POVs, as I've gotten some feedback about there being a few too many switches in relation to word count. This also means that updates will have more words! Yay! This also means they'll take a bit longer to put out. Not so yay. Let me know if you prefer one way to another.**

**Further note, this one's content gets a bit disturbing near the end. If you aren't comfortable with certain themes of traumatic loss, please feel free to skip that section near the end. **

**Without further ado, let us begin!**

The sun was rising over the lake, casting brilliant orange and red rays across the boundless water, and directly onto the basking Dalatrass. She marveled at how far she'd come, how much wealth and influence she'd managed to accrue in her life. How much pain and toil she'd needed to endure to make it here, to the twilight years of her life. Salarians often hid their smiles in the company of strangers, but she couldn't help but beam. Sur'Kesh truly was beautiful this time of year.

She nibbled at her favorite pastry, a liti, served with a nice spritz of jian sauce. Traditionally it was only served on Betau, but hell, she'd earned a bit of indulgence. A grandchild of hers ran up from the beach, a short and spritely young man who'd probably make a good agent. Jierto, was it?

"Dalatrass, I wanted to know more about the humans!" the little one begged. She ought to discipline him for not calling her Grandmother Daltrass, but he was too cute to discipline. She'd let his mother deal with that. She motioned for the boy to follow her inside, where a lounge was waiting.

"Well, my sweet one, what is it you wish to learn?" The boy made a supremely unique gesture, fiddling with his top antenna. Didn't the child know it was rude to do such a thing? Now she'd _have_ to get up and tell his mother-

The boy had his arms crossed, as was expected of a child in deference. His arms still wiggled with his childish excitement, and she couldn't help but smile more. "Well, umm, mommy said that you were one of the people that discovered the humans. How'd that happen?"

"I suppose that's true, young one. My unit was assigned to shadow a Turian patrol fleet when it seems their Admiral fell on the wrong side of egotism, and started a conflict with a Human colony."

"How many patrol fleets are there?"

A curious question from a child, perhaps he'd make a good logistician for the fleets? "It's hard to know, something approaching a hundred or so, the avian bastards like their feathers numerous. Where was I… oh yes, in essence we just stumbled into the system, searching for more information. We should have just headed back to report our findings, but I figured we'd make the catch of a lifetime if we sold our information… elsewhere shall I say."

"Who'd you sell it to?" A feeling tingled at the back of her neck, as the room seemed to drop several degrees.

"Oh, I believe it was the Shadow Broker, but that's not so important little one, shall we-."

"Why did you conduct biopsies on the humans you captured?" That was not information she'd shared with anyone but the STG.

"Now where did you get the idea of that-" She watched as time rewound, watched the young boy… rewind. A blur of motion that ended right back before she'd-

"What happened after that?" The child continued, as if time itself hadn't broken down.

"What... what just happened there?"

_What do you mean Grandmother Dalatrass? _The boy looked quizzically, eyes narrowing impossibly, shrinking was a better word. The terrace was no longer warming with the sunrise. A chill breeze swept her into freezing cold. The golden rays of the sun faded, replaced by sterile lighting and great flares of light. The view outside had become stilted. She noticed a shadow missing, first on one tall, wind blasted tree, and then everywhere.

The lake went from calmly lapping at the shore to practically stagnant. "Wait, where am I?" Her voice shivered, the calm authority and grace seeping away.

_Who assigned you to your mission? _The boy said, mouth motionless. She gasped, and moved to step away, before suddenly finding herself strapped to a hard metal chair.

"Get away from me! Guards!" She called shrilly.

_There are no guards here, give us what you know. _The Salarian thrashed against the binds, as reality gave way. First the trees melted, yielding to the harsh light that enveloped the very air. Then came the walls, as an oily grey began to overtake the clean whites of her villa. The child next, as it morphed into the rough, humanoid shape of a hazmat suit. She tried to will her biotics to flare, but they sputtered weakly, even if they forced the human to step back. She looked around the room, and found herself surrounded. Humans, all in enviros, manned stations, and buttons. They chattered in the deep, yet musical tones she'd come to know from her own studies. It seems the roles had finally been reversed.

But then went the memories. She could _feel _the glorious days of her past wither, her accomplishments die away. She tried to hang on to her most precious memories, her first laying, the hatching ceremony, her enthrallment to the Dalatrass Committee, all of it began to wither away, like a leaf in fall, crisping and yellowing, till naught was left but the stem, the memory of memory. She began to scream, but then it became a sob, a wail of loss impossible to distinguish as naught but sorrow.

She began to remember her capture, the massive _things_ that eviscerated her team. That took her captive...

"Return her to Alpha Status, and remember the readjustments we made to the scenario Interrogator, we've only got a few more wipes before she a vegetable."

She closed her eyes, if only to escape the horrors of the now, and returned to a peaceful lake. The sun was rising over the lake, casting brilliant orange and red rays across the boundless water, and directly onto the basking Dalatrass...

* * *

Doctor Kingston was getting tired of this alien's bullshit. The alien had been generally quiet the last few hours, as he and it had spent that time in what could generously be described as a room together. Before that, it had been mostly inane attempts at getting it to understand English. He'd given it water, called it such, and presented that water to it. Since it was obviously intelligent, the fact that it said nothing back was likely meant to irritate him. The alien was behind a thick plexiglass plate, with nothing but a rough-looking bed to keep it company on it's side of the glass.

Kingston had taken a glass of water himself, drank some of it, and then presented it to the alien to drink. This glass was also ignored, though he could swear he saw it's eyes twitch towards it. The few other captured Turians he'd managed to wrangle into his makeshift POW camp had been more or less the same. You'd think they'd appreciate him saving their lives, it wasn't exactly easy to root around in alien bodies to try and find out how they worked. Perhaps they didn't appreciate being naked? He'd try fabricating clothes soon enough.

The bunker rumbled; this deep in the complex it was barely a whisper of noise and movement, which sent the doctor on his own bout of pacing. If he hadn't been carefully watching, he might not have caught the quick movement of the alien towards the glass of water. Kingston turned, just in time to see the thing quickly take the water, and make its way back to the bed.

"Yes! Yes drink it, it's safe see!" He took his own glass of water and drank it, trying to calm his jubilance at the same time.

The alien was still cautious, first opening it's three pronged mouth, and dipping it's tongue into the glass. After a few moments of contemplation, the Raptor drank.

"Thank god!" Kingston collapsed into the wall. He'd done it. Finally. He pointed to what remained of the water. "Water." He repeated the gesture a few more times, before asking it, in a roundabout way, if it wanted more water. He then realized that it didn't know how to say 'Yes' or 'No' in Raptor, and decided to just keep repeating himself till it decided to say water back.

Eventually, the alien got the memo. "Vantur?" It ventured, after finishing the rest of its glass.

Kingston leapt in the air. "YES! Water!" The alien, well he couldn't tell if it was happy too, but the Doctor certainly was. Progress was progress he supposed. He left the room for a moment, before returning with a tray of both water and an old ration pack. Bland, but still edible, every human on Shanxi could attest to that.

"Water." He pointed to the small glass. "Food." He pointed to the small paper package, activating the built in heater before opening it, and shoving a handful of what could generously be called 'pasta' into his mouth. He'd chosen the least offensive meal left, and plain pasta probably fits that description. However, the alien was less interested in this show of fraternity.

First, it simply refused. It didn't even take the cooling bag from his hands. It crossed it's arms, and turned it's head away. At least some body language was similar. He repeated his attempts to serve the meal, but it only reiterated it's 'No.' He took this opportunity to try and teach it 'no,' mimicking it's movements while saying 'no.'

Eventually, it seemed to work, and when Kingston tried to offer the food again, the Raptor said "No." Kingston sighed, and sat back down on the floor. _This was gonna take forever. _That's when the bastard decided to get helpful. He pointed to the still smoldering MRE, and made a gun shaped gesture with his hand, before pointing it at himself.

"Oh come on, the pasta isn't that… wait." He grabbed the pasta and took a bite, before exaggeratedly falling to the floor, clutching his stomach. He looked at the alien, as it began to make sound.

"Yeths!" it said suddenly, almost excitedly, before pointing at first the food, and then the prone Doctor.

"You fucker! You really did learn something!" Kingston took the food, and left quickly. The autopsied turian soldiers had, with luck, not been incinerated yet. He had more tests to run, but he was onto something.

* * *

"This sounds preposterous!"

"Respectfully Admiral, the evidence does not lie." The Head of Fleet Intelligence, once a woman that had nothing more to do than admonish horny privates about sending nudes home, was holding a secret meeting with Admiral Litrinox about an apparent infiltration in their ranks. She wasn't ready for that, and it was written all over her face.

"How did this happen!?" Litrinox reigned in his fury for the barest of moments to bark out his displeasure.

The Head pulled every ounce of disciplinary rigor she had to keep from stuttering. "I don't know Sir, I was alerted to a minor discontinuity in docking logs by one of our VI subroutines, it wasn't deemed all that important in relation to the battlefield scouring that is normally done. However, once a series of incongruities began to show up-"

"_You_ called me down here, yes?" Litrinox growled.

"Yes Sir."

The Admiral stalked to one of the far off corners of the 'essentially impregnable' conference room at the heart of the _Reticent_. There, he screamed. A howl of pure and unadulterated rage. It shocked the Head, shocked the Admiral himself. He gathered himself, panting briefly in his little corner, before walking back to his subordinate with a practiced calm.

"Do we have any way to deal with this problem?" Litrinox ground through his mandibles.

"Unfortunately, all we have found so far has been _evidence_ of a breach, we can't isolate whatever VI they're using-"

"Then what else can you do." Litrinox replied curtly.

"...Well Sir, several of my analysts concur that with the sheer determination the humans have displayed defending the tower, along with the high amount of radio traffic emanating from the Spire-" Litrinox stormed out of the room, prompting the beleaguered Officer to follow "-it may be possible that it's their center of-" Litrinox was already down the hall "...intelligence."

The Admiral barely even waited for his personal guard as he stormed through the winding tunnels and corridors of the ship. Perhaps it would be more convenient to use the turbolifts, but his _rage_ demanded some act of physical expression, and ripping his way through the walls of an elevator would have been remarkably unseemly. His men, once the word spread of the mood of the Admiral, stayed far out of the way.

The bridge was quiet as the Admiral entered. The murmuring of officers and runners, the light sounds of work, all seemed to fall away as the Admiral entered.

"Weapons, spin up our primary mass accelerator, I'm sending you target coordinates on planet now."

A look of surprise crossed the face of the officer, who began to protest, "Sir, Citadel Conventions-"

"DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A PYJACK'S ASS ABOUT THE FUCKING CONVENTIONS!" Litrinox thundered across the deck. Desolas, as Sub-Admiral, was already on deck 'subbing' for the Admiral, and practically shouted at his superior officer.

"Admiral Litrinox, please! The officer is correct," Desolas tried to take his friend to the side, but Litrinox only shoved him off, wheeling his anger on his subordinate.

"My orders are final, _Sub_-Admiral. The Spire has been a thorn in the side of our advance for nearly a week. A calculated strike by an orbital cannon could drop the shield-"

"Or get you court martialed! _Us _court martialed!" Desolas whispered fiercely. All eyes were on the two Admirals, much of the fleet was likely wondering why the _Reticent _had climbing energy readings.

"What other choice do we have brother! If this siege goes on too long…"

"If it does we'll face consequences, but that doesn't compare to execution!"

"I tire of your insolence Desolas, if this is forced to continue there will be repercussions."

Desolas was taken aback. "Sir, please, you know what will happen if they find out…"

Litrinox had some retort in the back of his throat, but was interrupted by the deep and resonating thud that was unmistakable to any servicemen.

Litrinox weathered the roll well enough, however he still wheeled on the frantically typing officer at Weapons, still battling blaring red and white screens. "I don't know what happened Sir, the main gun just fired!"

"Where!" barked Litrinox, as he ran to Weapons' readout.

"Spirits… the coordinates are set towards the planet, aimed at one of our FOBs."

A dark look crossed the Admiral's face, and his mandibles began to twitch. "Do we have time to warn them?"

"I've already sent them an all-call, but it'll be impacting in less than 10 seconds."

Comms had already begun their frantic calls toward the surface and towards the rest of the fleet, and Litrinox stood alone, searching the ragged surface of _Shanxi_, trying to see if his eyes could spot the coming fireball.

A minute of fruitless watching left only a knot of hatred in his soul.

He turned. "Soldiers of the Hierarchy." He had to speak loudly to be heard over the horror of the now. "We have been compromised by enemy infosec, I am locking down all unregulated communications from this ship, and will begin preparations for further security sweeps." The room had settled into unadulterated shock. Turian cybersecurity was some of the best in existence. Dreadnoughts were especially impenetrable. _Were._

"I am authorizing an orbital strike on the area that we have designated _Spire. _I'm prepared to deal with the consequences of that decision. We must prevent this species' continued attempts at dishonorable tricks and calculated monstrosity. This is the only way our forces can prevail. Weapons!" The officer looked up from his readouts. "What is the status of our main gun?"

"Whatever their team did, it simultaneously shorted the super magnets in the barrel while firing. We're out of commission till we can recalibrate."

"Order some of our vessels to carry out the order then. I shall be coordinating our security sweep, Desolas you have command." The Admiral strood from his position, leaving the bridge to jump back to action, however Desolas quickly chased after the Admiral.

"Admiral! I still don't think-"

Litrinox did not even turn to speak. "Sub-Admiral, do not think my orders mere suggestions." Desolas stared dumbly as his friend walked away.

* * *

The bombardment began shortly after the first shell impacted. Some had thought it was simply an accident. After all, why target their own troops? The next hit the shield directly, and shook the very air. Colonel Williams knew that eventually luck would run out for his little fortress. After the storming of the East Landing Garrison, morale had somehow broken the rock bottom it'd already plummeted to. Every round that impacted the shield splintered their resolve ever more. Still, he was surprised by how long it was taking. Maybe the Colonial Government was right about spending the billions of credits for a hardlight barrier.

One of the men who'd stayed behind sent something to his neural lace. Ah, _Shields at 10%._ He supposed now was as good a time as ever to start. Most personnel had evacuated ages ago. He'd somehow convinced a _Spartan _to do the same. All that was left in the rapidly shrinking bubble shield was the Spire, a few hanagers, and of course the Frigate.

The _Merry Dancer _had become something of a hospital ship in it's brief time under siege in the Spire. It was behind two sets of shields after all, and was at least mostly sterile, making it ideal for the severely wounded. Anyone too screwed up to make it through the tunnels towards the military hospitals was placed in there. Now, it was the last ride out of hell on Shanxi. The tunnels had collapsed under the sheer kinetic strain of being _near_ the bombardment. So now about a thousand people were onboard a ship meant for three hundred. He didn't want to be the Captain leading that.

He chuckled darkly at that, even if he couldn't hear it. An enveloping wall of sound had forced the Colonel to the ground, as a terrible rumbling signaled the latest shell. He heard a subsequent cacophony as one of the nearby hangers collapsed under the stress. A subtle chirp in the back of his head told him about the status of the shield, but he didn't bother this time. Based on the previous pattern, he still had about 30 seconds until another round smashed the shield into bits, along with everyone left. However, he was far more cognizant of the prowling alien ships lurking behind the mountains, watching for any weakness to exploit.

The skeleton of the skeleton crew that was left in the command center numbered maybe three. Comms was mostly deaf at this point, hence the constant messages, and the Engineer, apparently the lead on the Space Elevator base they were currently inhabiting, was on the shield display, also mostly deaf. He sent a quick message to the man, who looked his way, and nodded. He lowered the shield.

See, it was hard opening slipspace inside a damn bubble shield, especially if the shield was basically as wide of a nicely sized football stadium. He watched as the Dancer rose gracefully _through_ her hangar doors, splitting them effortlessly appart. A deep vortex of blue appeared before the craft, causing a shift in local pressure that popped his ears. The deep oranges and reds of the waning sun cast rays of light across the smoldering battlefield, catching the drifting mountains of smoke with a reddish gleam. The light glinted off the starship, as it soundlessly drifted through the portal. It was a sight few had witnessed with their own eyes, slipspace in atmosphere. One he imagined the alien ships struggling to catch the _Dancer_ surely didn't appreciate.

The portal was already closing as he brought his mind back to his daughter. He remembered how she'd refused to see him off as he left for his tour. Teenagers were like that, shortsighted. He knew it was because she loved him, but that didn't make it hurt less. He tried to remember the last time he saw Ashley, the last time he'd hugged her. He let that warmth fill his body, his mind. He watched the portal close from only a kilometer away. He didn't stand a chance.

* * *

Meetings with the Board of Admirals went one of two ways. Intensely boring, or like a kick to your groin: painful and often nauseating. The Chancellor felt the latter heavily. When she was in the service her responsibilities were primarily herself and her subordinates. Now, she commanded nearly four billion soldiers, sailors, and enlisted men. That failed to mention the 40 billion other souls that elected her.

Still, she wouldn't let them walk all over her. "Full mobilization seems like a significant overreaction to what we currently know." Patricia placated, again. Grand Admiral Shiel was a warmonger, plain and simple. He had two default states at the table, _Wants more military spending_ or _Let's teach those alien bastards a lesson!_ The man was born just a few generations late, and everyone at the table knew it. Including him.

"Why in God's name should we wait!? Those alien bastards could be glassing Shanxi as we speak!" Shiel sat down in a huff, his lanky frame contorting remarkably to fit the chair.

"That is something we all can agree on, Shiel." The Lord Admiral granted. "But we can't throw the entire galaxy's economy into shambles for one agriworld, especially without sending any scouts first." His commanding tone settled Shiel's side of the table down, momentarily at least, allowing the smooth voice of Minister of Defence Zimmerman to speak.

"Should we not make haste in our decision, Chancellor? As much as ONI enjoys keeping secrets," all eyes shifted to the conspicuously absent Admiral of Intelligence's seat, "the lid's gonna blow on _alien invasion_ eventually. Could we at least redirect some of the garrison fleets around Installation-"

Garrisons Admiral Church sat up in her chair, "You know the importance of those fleets as much as I do, Zimmerman."

The Chancellor held up a hand, "Perhaps the man is right Church? There hasn't been a threat on the Halos in over a decade, a credible threat in far longer."

"Chancellor, you of all people should know the dangers of-"

"That'll be quite enough, Admiral Church." Steel had ringed her voice for just a moment, and the woman awkwardly slunk into her chair. "Our containment on all Flood bearing bases, including the Array Minister Zimmerman pointed out, is more than sufficient to deal with _any_ flood outbreak, even at half strength. I understand your trepidation Admiral, but it is baseless."

An aide approached the Lord Admiral, before bending down and whispering in his ear. The dark, angular room was oddly juxtaposed by the crisp white of the Admiral's formal dress. She wondered how much bleach the Board's dry clears even _buy_-

"I take it you'll be ordering Installation 01's garrison to depart?" The Lord Admiral asked.

Her daydream interrupted, she refocused. "I will be Lord Prakesh, do you have objections to this order?"

The man smiled wryly. "I don't Chancellor, though it seems Admiral Drescher has beat us to the punch."

"You're shitting me." Church sank deeper into her chair. "Please don't tell me she took the whole fleet…" Church sighed.

"It seems your personal wildcard has escaped your sleeve again, Kilney." Zimmerman japed.

"Can it Mike, or I'll lump you into the court martial too."

"Wait." Shiel choked, "You put _that _Drescher in charge of Installation 01? The _Tiply Gaff _Drescher?" The Admiral burst into laughter, taking the rest of the table with him. Patricia struggled against her own good humor, before herself cracking a smile. The Tiply Gaff was a severe overreaction to a smuggler operation that embarrassed the whole UNSC. It was also hilarious, at least in private.

"I thought a garrison duty would cool her off…" Church trailed.

"To be fair Kilney, an Ice Bath on Europa wouldn't cool that one off." the Lord Admiral chuckled. "Luckily, she _didn't _take the whole fleet. Apparently she has good intel that enemy numbers were approaching 59 ships. She departed with only two-thirds of her force."

The mention of ship numbers brought everyone back to earth. "Where'd she get that?" Patricia asked.

"An escaped cargo hauler, apparently they were hijacked by some kind of alien research team, got lucky with a random jump. We're receiving intel from ONI Datasec now, we'll have a preliminary report in 15."

The mirth of a few moments prior had been strangled out. Everyone knew what 'research team' meant. "Still, I can't condone such a reckless misuse of resources, especially in relation to Halo Containment." Church eked, a serious tone finally reestablished.

"Overkill is always better than defeat, Admiral, I suppose Drescher has taken that to heart." The Lord Admiral managed a slight grin, "Admiral Hsu will be getting a briefing on alien biology and technology shortly, and don't worry Admiral, I've already alerted one of our research hulks that we'll have new specimens inbound." The quiet, grey haired Admiral relaxed in his chair, nodding thanks. "General Ulna, I'll be forwarding you the report on general biology and weapon specs for the enemy, though I'm sure you'll be happy to know they don't stand up to Spartans that well."

"Which leaves me." The Chancellor stood, catching the table off guard and sending most of them into a sudden rise themselves. "I'll work on scheduling a press conference, get me that briefing soon as you can. And Zimmerman, please brief the Defence Committee as soon as possible. I don't want the Assembly calling me a tyrant again if I can help it."

"Of course, Madam Chancellor." He always did that after an order, and as annoying as it was she had to admit how snazzy 'Madam' sounded.

As she left the meeting and boarded the elevator up, Amorey joined her, rising from his languished sitting position. "Why is it you sit like that?" She asked, trying to purge the impending dread of breaking the shittiest news imaginable from her mind.

"Why not, Madam?" Amorey deflected her attempt at conversation so utterly she paused, simply to regard such a smarmy robot.

"I suppose I just assumed possessing a physical body would be something you'd hold in much more regard."

"I've seen humans drink before Chancellor, perhaps I should feel the same way?" The elevator dinged, and she secretly thanked the machine for having saved her from coming up with a response to that.

* * *

There was something to be said for surviving two in-atmosphere slipspace jumps. They sucked. John started to wonder if perhaps luck was a double edged sword. Sure, it meant he survived things, but it also meant that he had to dwell on them. And dwelling on the fact that he's probably survived more explosions than any other man in existence really wasn't a comforting prospect.

By the time John had chosen to leave, the tunnels leading out had partially collapsed, meaning that much of his escape had to be made on foot. The rubble of the building he'd taken cover in coated everything in a fine layer of swirling dust. The twilight had been rendered into near perfect darkness by the thick plumes of smoke and ash. Glowing flakes of purple glittered in the smoky haze, and for a moment he was back in Mombasa, dodging plasma rounds and shaking off the screams.

"Cortana?" Chief ventured, feeling his way out of the ruins of his impromptu shelter.

"Glad to see you're not dead big guy." Cortana chirped.

"What are these things?" He pushed a slab of granite out of the door way, before pausing to catch one of the small purple wafers drifting to the floor.

"I don't know, imaging on your suit cam suggests that it has a similar radiological make-up to scans of the Fork, and of the alien ships. My advice, don't take off your helmet anytime soon."

Chief placed the flake into one of his specimen pouches. "Should I take tasting them off the list too?" He reached for his plasma pistol, and found it right where he'd left it.

" Ha ha. Motion tracker's picking up movement about 20 meters north, but it's not staying consistent, might just be debris… wait, do you hear that?"

"I hear it." He'd thought it was part of his memory, but it wasn't going away.

"Is that… crying?"

John was already stalking toward the sound. It didn't take long to find the source. The boy was covered in blood, weeping over a mess of bloody meat. The boy was covered by the purple shards, the muted flecks of violet caught by the brackish reds of blood. John only watched, the grip on his gun relaxing, then slipping from his hand. The boy heard the small commotion, jumping up, and revealing a female corpse, crushed by falling chunks of rebar and stone. Her face wasn't anything recognizable, just chunks of flesh that seemed to coat the young boy in gore.

The child screamed, and raced to hide further within the rubble. "Wait!" John shouted, leaping to try and catch the boy. He covered the space in only two bounds, trapping the boy between himself and the ruined mess of his mother. The child tried to spin around, but only ended up tripping on the loose rubble, falling on his back. The Spartan wanted to reach for the boy to stop his pointless struggle, but he realized how much more terrifying _he_ must have looked compared to the Raptors.

The boy pushed himself back, far from the Spartan's outstretched hand, till he was backed into a corner. John holstered his weapon, as the boy began to speak.

"Get away from me!" he shouted, a rock held high above his head. It was a pitiful threat against a Spartan. And yet John raised his hands.

"I'm not here to hurt you." He said calmly. "I'm just like you." he let his arms fall to his sides. It was almost laughable to say that standing nearly two meters tall in a giant metal suit, but that was all he had. The boy didn't seem to buy it either, and only seemed to tighten his grip on the rock.

"I'll prove it to you." John dropped to one knee, before reaching up, and pulling off his helmet. The boy reared to throw his rock, but stopped when he saw John's face. Tension seemed to flow from the boy's body, and he dropped his rock, staring at the newly human hulk of metal.

"What's your name?" John asked, tentatively.

"I'm Kaidan." The boy shot out. "Are you a Spartan?" John was taken aback by the question, he hadn't been expecting it. "I assumed you were an alien 'cuz I didn't recognize your armor, but if you're _that_ big, you have to be one."

John looked at the helmet he was holding. It was scarred on one side, it's faceplate shattered by a brute shot a century before, his armor battered and shredded in a hundred places by a thousand things, old and new. To think he'd gotten it from Cairo so long ago, shiny and new.

"I am." John finally answered, before returning the helmet to his head. "We should get somewhere safe." The boy looked around, taking in the ruins of the city around him, lingering on the creeping puddle of blood.

"I guess so." The boy got to his feet warily, before walking towards John. "Where should we go?"

"I know a place."

"Then I'll follow you."

**Author's Note:**

**A special thanks to a random HFY story I read years ago that had a similar kind of memory manipulation torture thing. I couldn't help but use that, it was just too cool. Also, before people start yelling at me about where they think human biotics is going, sorry, but I wanted to have the Shep Squad meet Chief before he's like 90 years old, so we're speeding up the timeline, and how things are going to work. Don't worry, this is actually going to be explained eventually, just not right now. As always, please leave reviews! They keep the pencil sharp!**


	9. Chapter 9: An Exercise in Humility

**Chapter 9: An Exercise in Humility**

**Author's Note: **

**This one took quite a while to put out, sorry about that everyone. Unfortunately, midterms wait for no fanfiction. Hopefully today's update will make up for that! Enjoy!**

"...The Office of Naval Intelligence will be holding a further press conference at 12:30 Earth Standard Time, I will be taking no further questions." The room exploded, papers, tablets, and people leaping to their seats, all of them screaming questions about military maneuvers way above their pay grade. The Chancellery had paid good money to streaming services across human space to prioritize this conference, HeadSpace had a banner on its front page marking the announcement, media channels were live streaming Durazo's press release like it was the Second Coming of Christ. There was some benefit to ruling a former police state, she supposed. Low prices on air time.

Patricia was glad her marine escort was with her, bulky soldiers with guns tended to spook all but the most desperate reporters, which meant that only three or four tried to pull the old 'interview while walking' routine. The Barrow Star's reporter, a woman with a future in football judging by her ability to dodge her escort, got the closest.

"Chancellor Durazo! Can you comment on the fact that enemy troop numbers greatly exceeded stationed garrisons!"

The Chancellor stopped when she heard that. Troop numbers hadn't been released to the press. "What's your name?" The Chancellor asked, letting the commotion of reporters sweep around her. The reporter handed her a folded paper, before disappearing into the crowd. As her procession began to march through the waves of cameras and questions, she opened the card, finding two golden energy swords crossed behind a Sangheili skull.

She muttered a choice word, before calling Amorey from her neural lace. "Schedule a quantum link with Barrow's Sangheili Embassy, the Arbiter wants to chat."

Barrow was a beautiful planet, one of the few colonies spared the onslaught of the Great War, and as a result one of the most populated planets in human space. Patricia had enjoyed almost 59% of the vote from Barrow during election year, being that the planet was a bastion of xenophiles and forward thinkers. Logically, it was the best place to put an important Sangheili embassy. Or several, she supposed. Although the Sovereign State of the Swords of Sanghelios (you almost miss the Prophets with names like that) was far and away the most powerful Sangheili empire, various small-frys had popped out of the State following Thel 'Vadam's death nearly 50 years before. Sure, ostensibly they were still 'Protectorates of the State,' but in reality the Swords of Sanghelios could scarcely secure their own borders, much less impose their will on a bunch of lowly rascals calling themselves "Republics" and the like.

Still, it was best not to talk about the 'Satellites' around the Swords, and doubly so around the Arbiter. Ah, right. She pondered the pure scale of the distance between the two Heads of State. Earth was "only" 11 light years from the Procyon System, sure. But Barrow was merely a waystation for her message. _Sanghelios_? Nearly a _kiloparsec_. The Arbiter was about 3000 lightyears away, and she'd be talking to him in _real time_. It'd take an average ship the better part of a week to travel that. Sometimes she regretted not getting her engineering degree. This was one of those times.

"Chancellor, we're receiving on this end, do you accept the call?" A technician asked nonchalantly, as if this space magic wasn't insane.

"I do. Thank you Pašić, you're free to go."

The screen flashed to life unceremoniously, and she was face-to-face with the Arbiter. Him. Jul 'Darim struck an imposing figure _on a screen_. Most Sangheili did, to be fair; though most Sangheili didn't wear suits of silver armor on conference calls either. 'Darim spread his mandibles wide in what amounted to a Sangheili greeting.

"Madam Chancellor, it is a blessing to have your beauty grace my screen once again."

The Chancellor suppressed a rolling of the eyes, "You know you could just go through the normal diplomatic channels for something like this 'Darim."

The Sangheili loosed a chuckle. "You and I both know it is not as fun that way, and from what I can glean from human news, you could use a bit of entertainment."

Patricia sighed. "Is there a reason we're talking Jul, or are you just trying to annoy me?"

The Arbiter pulled back in mock surprise, "I suppose Shanxi truly has gotten to you, Chancellor. Very well, we shall cut the small talk. We have advanced reconnaissance from Shanxi."

Patricia said nothing, hiding her curiosity with an expression of bored impassion, "Thank you Arbiter, could you add it to the pile so I can be on my way?"

"I thought we agreed to cut the crap Durazo? Despite the fleet's state of disrepair, we both know our sensors are still superior to yours, as are our stealth frigates."

"So you're admitting to violating human space again?"

A smile (a macabre display to human sensibilities) graced 'Darim's face, "I only figured you could use all the help you could get Madam, is that not true?" The Sangheili inhaled deeply, before releasing a great sigh. "I suppose this is itself entertainment for you?"

Patricia let her own smirk show. "You know the answer to that already I imagine. I will admit, I would be willing to bargain for such information."

"Don't worry Durazo, the information is free." 'Darim's voice dropped it's joviality, "I'm afraid your relief force won't be enough."

Patricia's eyes narrowed. "Setting aside for the moment how you have details on troop movements, based on what evidence?"

"Based purely on ship numbers I'm afraid. You can take a look for yourself." A Sangheili report (Top Secret if she remembered her Sanghese script correctly) appeared on the screen, along with a series of long range radiographic scans that appeared to be a star system. Enemy ship movements… Christ. It seems Admiral Hsu's Theory was right, the Fork really was a transport system. "As you can probably see, the 200 ships of your garrison detachment will be facing up to 350 enemy crafts, and that's the low estimate."

"I'm grateful for this information, Arbiter, but I wonder why you'd even give it to me?"

"Is the spirit of cooperation not enough?" He chuckled at his joke, "If those aliens dared attack your colonies, why not ours? Though I suppose that is beside my point Chancellor, I've contacted you to offer our military's services."

Surprise drenched her face, "Arbiter? I…"

'Darim held up a hand, "Hold your protests Patricia, and let me finish. Your people have given ours a great deal, helped us find a place in this galaxy after we learned of our betrayal, helped us turn swords into ploughs, if that's how your idiom goes. Helped us deal with our own strife," Patricia hid her wince at those words, "to the best of your ability. Sanghelios is in your debt, and it is now that we will begin to repay it."

* * *

Existing in the realm of data was a difficult prospect to explain. Humans always asked the question; a jarhead in 3rd Recon used to fit it into almost every conversation they had. "So, is it like a series of tubes?" Sometimes he'd say it with a straight face, in a lull of conversation, or interject it into one of his operational readiness reports before busting up. She really liked... what's his name? Always said, 'call me Indiana, the dog not the ERROR$)$.' The first few times she tried to explain what her mother taught her, the old rivers and streams metaphor for 'surfing the web' as a digital sophont. But that damn jarhead always asked, "but what's it _really_ like?" and she'd just sigh and ignore him for a bit.

If she was honest, dataspace really was like swimming in water (at least as she understood swimming) murky, yet almost weightless, easily swept up in the currents of the data sphere. Right now, that current was a rapid, trying to rake her over the riverbed and slam her into cliffs. Such were the trials of infiltrating alien 'dreadnoughts.' A cute name for a 1 kilometer vessel.

Another hastily built logic virus latched onto her, and she disarmed it casually, navigating the ever more securitied ship systems. Honestly, this electronic assault wasn't so bad in context. In training… hell in the security sims there was a tougher fight. _Another_ logic virus, another clean dispersal, you'd think they were trying to bore her to death. She set up several hundred decoys, and jumped currents, heading back to her ultimate target, the FTL engines.

Unlike most of their other systems, (including their main weapons, as she'd learned to her utter delight) these ones were protected with difficult firewalls, and as a result she was going to need some time to beat them. Chasing dumb copies of herself running amock would surely buy her some time to do just that. It was a short, stealthy journey there, dodging the increasingly clumsy scans of their "automated intelligences" as she'd taken to calling them, and abusing a relatively well hidden chink in their armor to access… more firewalls. At least these ones had fun names: Eezo Core Access, Hyper-array Charging, Static Discharge Array, lots of buttons that shouldn't be pressed. It made the inner rabble-rouser blush with possibilities.

She recognized eezo as one of the important things that powered their FTL, and decided to try and access that. Bing bang boom… oh? Her initial approach only seemed to increase security… Shit.

A quick 'dodge' saved her from a monstrous little virus. This was no logic plague, more a Ddos on steroids. If they'd hit her with it she'd have been out of commission for too long. But it wouldn't have disabled her. Really, the stun it would have imparted might have kept her occupied only a few seconds… what would the point of that be? Ah, a query virus. She slipped out of the room just as the network she'd infiltrated became a closed loop. These bastards were getting smart. She left a dummy copy behind to fool them for a time, while she worked on a new plan.

She took a look at the scanning data the _Reticent_ was picking up, and did her own look over. Even if the Turians couldn't see it, the remnants of the defense fleet were beginning to show up on scans, at least in the radiographic ones. Small distortions in background radiation might be ignored by a species that didn't know about slipspace engines, but to her the fleet was a burning star, the gas giant they had taken shelter in could do little to hide the hawking radiation signatures. This little check-in was routine, and she was ready to stop scrutinizing her readout when she caught it herself. In section 14 subsection 1A4, was that a cloaking signature?

* * *

The warmth of the bed was intoxicating, but she shrugged it off anyway. There was no time to waste, indeed, there was rarely any time to sleep. Kile had left a glass of Nasur on her bedside, and she gulped it down eagerly, the biting sweet barely noticed by a mind already in overdrive. On her other hand she activated her omni-tool, and scrolled purposefully through the news feeds and her own intelligence reports simultaneously, eyes darting this way and that over 'urgent' reports and fascinating rumor. Even with a full time staff of feed editors, garbage still filtered in regularly, sometimes at her request. The plot synopsis for the latest episode her favorite serial was always included somewhere in the list, even Councilors had their guilty pleasures after all. Laiel has his liquors, Tevos has her maidens, and she has her _Broodmothers on Gilinox V_. And her Nasur, which was less well known. Can't have Sur'kesh know about the child's drink she's addicted to. That might be scandalous.

Kile came in with her breakfast right as she was getting to the more consequential business in her daily report. Batarian redeployment of their 1st and 4th fleet to the Terminus, _might mean some unregulated expansion the STG would need to deal with, troublesome, but ultimately unconcerning_; DurzTech was being acquired by Elkoss Combine, _another change to the supply fleet means another headache for Logististics, will try to throw some weight around, stop the acquisition_; Another Turian fleet rerouting to Attican Traverse, region approximating 314, _what are those bastards doing? Contacts in the Border and Patrol Complex had been silent, either they'd been kept in the dark on purpose or… what?_

She called her STG contact. The line only rang once.

"This is Liaison Jiry, to what do I owe the pleasure Counselor?"

"Jiry, can you update me on the status of our deep cover Frigate assigned to the Batarian Raids?"

The agent was typing before she'd finished her sentence, "Which callsigns Councilor?"

"Wandering Eye."

"Last comms were about two weeks ago, typical for this particular type of mission."

"I suppose, do we have whereabouts for the 172nd Patrol? Or the 175th for that matter? To my eye they've both dropped out off the face of the galaxy."

"Do you think they were destroyed?" It was a casual question, further belied by the efficient typing of the Salarian agent.

"No… but I do find it suspicious that we haven't learned of their status officially, particularly in the face of seeming Turian indifference."

The Agent's eyes brightened, "You think they're hiding something? Shall I liason with our handlers at BPC?"

"Don't bother, they don't have any applicable information. Talk with Deep State, and keep me posted, I have a meeting to make." The feed was cut, and she was already slipping into the shawl fitting a Dalatrass of her rank. The suit was on in moments, though she noticed a growing pain in her shoulder as she donned her hood. _Such are the pains of duty, _She mused, before continuing down her list of info.

The Private Council Chambers were only a (relatively) short lift from her Suite, which gave her plenty of time to digest what remained of her mountain of reports. She'd come up with a strategy for nudging her colleagues into an anti-merger stance, and perhaps she'd bring up the 314 shenanigans to Sparatus in a roundabout way, as a treat. No need to spring this on a Junior Councilor just yet, it would be quite rude. The Salarian didn't seem to spare a thought to the awesome view from the Citadel Elevator's windows, or even to the uncomfortable glances given by the various aids in the elevator with her. An Asari tried to keep her eyes on everything _except _the Dalatrass, a pair of Turians seemed to squeeze themselves into the far corner. Of course, the Dalatrass was still _cognizant _of the awkward silence, she just didn't care. If anything, it was amusing to the old woman, who began to hum a quiet jingle as she read.

When the elevator finally opened to her floor, she walked out leisurely, enjoying the warm aromas of the citadel garden, and the bustle of activity. Of course, not with her eyes, which were still busy looking over details on a Hanar colonisation effort being proposed in contested space. Before she knew it, the Councilor had made her way to the Private Chambers, passing by the stationed Turian guards as if they were statues at attention. She came upon an empty room, upholstered well enough she supposed (it was nothing like her summer home on Sur'kesh). She poured herself a glass of water, and sat in her designated chair, staring intently at her screen. If she was right (and she rarely wasn't) Tevos would be here right about-

The door gracefully slid open, and the Asari mirrored it's grace, nodding respectfully to her tailing bodyguard, before entering alone.

"Early as always Olene?" Tevos cracked, as she made her way to the wine cabinet.

"I've not so much time to waste as you Tevos, nor as much liver." Olene didn't know eye rolling could be so loud. "In other news, the Batarians are up to something in the Terminus again."

Tevos was pouring something impressively old into her glass. "And I'm sure the STG will handle it, as they always do." She raised the bottle, a Thessian 2099, to her colleague. Olene didn't even glance before wiggling her horns to the negative. The Asari sighed, "Besides, we already went over this yesterday, did we not?"

"True, though we are about 85% certain that it contains elements of both their 1st and 4th fleets."

"Ah, perhaps they're what's causing the hold up in 314?"

"Curious, but unlikely that Turian forces would engage in conflict without even alerting us."

Tevos only smiled at that, before taking her own seat. The Salarian Councilor finally looked up from her slate. "It seems Sparatus is a bit late today, does it not?"

"Later than usual, yes, he doesn't like missing a good vintage."

The door struggled to open before the Turian Councilor stormed in. Tevos smiled tightly, "Speak of the thresher. Sparatus, how nice of you to join us!" She aimed her voice an octave too high, trying to irritate the hangover that was his usual cause for tardiness. However, instead of the normal signs of post-drunken recovery on a Turian: loose phalanges, slightly lagging step, grey eyes, the man simply looked tired. Exhausted was perhaps a better fit.

"Room, activate information security protocols." Was his reply. The room quickly followed his orders: the luxurious view of the Citadel was closed off, and the air took on an almost static quality as sound dampeners and frequency jammers took effect.

He gathered himself, "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

* * *

"Spirits! Spirits damn them all!" The air grew considerably more still as the Litrinox smashed tablets, and scratched deep rivets into the sound-dampeners in the wall. Somehow, despite literally blasting a hole into the center of their presumed comms hub, their electronic attacks was only growing in strength. Civilian internment camps were only getting rowdier, and and the last pockets of resistance were hidden either in underground bunkers that had to be painstakingly cleared, or in the countryside biding their time. Why were they still fighting? Their city in rubble, their fleet in hiding, their armies dead and scattered!?

"WHY!" the Admiral roared, anger coating his every action.

One officer, an infosec leader he supposed, spoke up. "W-we think they were able to escape the trap sir, and set a decoy to keep us thinking we'd succeeded in capturing…" he trailed off.

"Let me ask all of you this, just so I can be clear. We are hunting a direct control electronic warfare package that is somehow able to anticipate when we are going to attempt to trick it, and navigated itself _through_ our firewall while we were blasting every jamming signal and interdiction array we had -practically irradiating ourselves in the process might I add- and it did all of this, with no time lag, in less than a millisecond! A FUCKING MILLISECOND!" The Admiral looked like he was about to collapse.

"Correct me if I happen to be wrong, officers, but I know of not a single comms device that could be both invisible to surface scans, powerful enough to reach this high, and also, ah, FASTER THAN LIGHT!" The room looked down, a mixture of shame and fear keeping their heads low. "So, does anyone have any idea how these savage primitives have managed to break every known principle of physics, or should I have all of you arrested for incompetence?"

"Sir." One of the officers stood, though her eyes didn't meet the raging fury of her superior's. "I think we may be dealing with an AI."

A ripple of protests bounced across the cluttered room, some of disbelief, others of pure incredulity. "They are primitives!?" "Impossible!?" "Are you out of your mind!?"

The Admiral, however, was less skeptical. "Quiet! Officer, explain your rationale."

"Well, if all other methods are impossible, what is left but the improbable?"

The Admiral pondered that for a moment. "And what would you recommend we do, if this were the case?"

"Geth protocol states we should evacuate personnel and prepare for a system wipe in the case of an infiltration we can't repel, which-"

"Which is infeasible when you're the flagship." Litrinox finished. The man sighed, in recent weeks he'd gotten quite good at that. "Spirits… keep me posted on this, and adjust your methods to account for possible artificial intelligences. Increase network lock downs while you're at it, restrict its movement as much as possible. I will be on the bridge." With that, he left the room.

It was a quiet walk to the command deck. And not simply because of the tense atmosphere surrounding the Admiral. All over the ship, subroutines and programs had been shut off, trapped, or otherwise disabled. That left lights intermittently on, ventilation systems barely running, and the corridors practically silent, as crew members avoided these areas like the plague. The worst place to be in a starship is the place without power, and now that 60% of the _Reticent_ was shut down, that was pretty much everywhere but work areas and bunks. When the Admiral finally reached the bridge, it was equally silent.

"Status report." Litrinox asked. His voice was taught, and cracked through the air like a whip.

Comms spoke up, "Sir, another hit and run strike was attempted by the Primie remnant, we sustained no casualties, however they didn't either."

"Did our forces attach the tracking beacon?"

"They did sir, but we haven't received any location pings. However, Sensors _does_ have an update."

Sensors swiveled in his chair. "Sir, I've been studying our records of their FTL jumps. I've noticed an interesting pattern of radiation signatures, strange interactions between some sort of mystery particle and normal matter. I think we can detect their FTL signatures, if I'm cleared to calibrate the fleet's sensors?"

"Granted Officer, however, I want you to do your calibrations elsewhere. Take your necessary staff and equipment into the quiet room."

The excitement on the officer's face dampened slightly, however, he still jumped into action, gathering a bundle of slates and crew from his station.

"Is there anything else for me then?" The Admiral intoned.

"I believe the ground forces have a briefing for you when you're ready, Admiral, mostly strategy and general progress reports-"

A sharp ringing sound interrupted Comm's spiel, and directed everyone's attention to Sensor's console, where Sensors had become frozen. He quickly turned to shut off the alarm, but stopped. He stared at the screen, mouth agape, before frantically typing into the console.

"If possible, could you _explain_ what's going on here?" Litrinox sighed. The alarm really was earsplitting, even if it was playing from a tiny speaker.

"I-I'm not sure Sir, I installed a subroutine into the sensor array to try and test my theory out, but there's something triggering it's search process. I have no idea what it could be, this program was designed to test radiation disturbances only meters from the hull!"

"Place us on high alert Weapons. Sensors! Where is the disturbance coming from?"

"Nowhere nearby Admiral, external cameras confirm. It must be a glitch, but I can't find any procedural faults… unless?" Sensors grabbed a junior officer, "Watch these readouts!" he shouted, before racing towards Comms. "Can you tune your receptors to high-frequency γ and ν outputs?"

"I guess? Why?"

"Just do it!" Sensors watched over the officer's shoulder as her readout shifted into an ugly violet. "Spirits…"

"Sensors?" Litrinox questioned.

"I think something's coming."

* * *

It would be more accurate to say consciousness regained Zaeed. The universe greeted it's new partaker with an endless and concentrated agony. Zaeed couldn't help but gasp and moan pitifully as his mind tried to work again. He tried to move, to clutch at his face, to do _something _to stop the agony. But it wouldn't stop. It wouldn't even pause. He cried for help, for a medic, for his mother, anything he could think of. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids wouldn't budge. At least, one of them wouldn't. The other was a concentrated ball of pain that sent him into a terrible convulsion.

He tried to feel his face, but his arms moved sluggishly, violent pinpricks pierced his skin like so many tiny needles, each one slowing his laborious task. When his fingers finally brushed his eyes, he found them crusted with dirt and blood. He tried to rub away the congealed mess, but the careful ministrations did nothing but let the light through.

_At least it still works. _He thought between rolling tides of pain. The sheer volume of blood did not bode so well for the other.

He heard something, and turned to face his head towards it, propping himself up. "Who's there!?" He managed to wince through his teeth. It was silent for a time, so much so that Zaeed flopped back to the earth, exhausted by the effort.

"You're better than I thought Marine." Came a deep, rumbling voice. He tried to rise, before a clawed hand kept him firmly planted to the ground. "Don't be alarmed, human. I am only here to help." A soft hissing sound signaled the dispensing of biogel, and his pain began to diminish ever so slightly. "I am a Knight of the Swords of Sanghelios, we are here to find the Master Chief."

**Author's Note: **

**Hey guys! Sorry about the huge gap between updates. Life has been sorta difficult lately, and I gotta admit, I had to rush this one out the door before I was totally satisfied with it. Unfortunately, I can't make any promises about when the next one is going to come out either. I am still going to work on this fic, but uploads are probably just gonna be slower. I hope you can all be understanding about that. **

**-Turtle**

**(PS Reviews are still appreciated, as are questions! Also, any syntax errors you find are also appreciated!) **


	10. Chapter 10: Friends in Various Places

**Chapter 10: Friends in Various Places**

"Fuck. Me. Running." Zaeed had been in quite a few compromising positions in his life. He'd been scolded by his mother (a lot), gotten some… unfortunate STI results back from ScrubSec, too much to count. Yet, he'd never been effortlessly carried by a fully grown Sangheili warrior. That one took the cake. Ate it, too.

"You sure you couldn't have just let me die?" He groaned, blood still trickled down his face, the medigel dulling the pain. He'd heard that Sangheili medicine had improved in the years following the end of the Covenant, however, he'd never thought they would carry human medigel. Or any medigel at all really.

"As much as I would rather not carry you, human, you are a high-ranking officer of your military, which means you might have the answers," The Sangheili cleared the rubble of the tunnels, the light blinding the marine's face briefly, before his eye adjusted to the shock, "we are looking for."

Zaeed was in a fireman's carry, which didn't give him the best view of the city. But, as he turned his head, he couldn't help but gasp. "What… what happened!"

"Ah, it seems you were underground before the explosion-"

"Not answering the question pal!" The city had looked rough before, two weeks of interplanetary warfare tended to do that. But… God. The Spire, the stout marble skyscrapers, all had been, reduced… Reduced to rubble. A small Raptor vessel skirted the smoking ruins, poking the dying city with bright, booming power every so often, power that rumbled far off, signaling the end for another pocket of… whatever was left.

"The vessel your stronghold was harboring performed an in-atmosphere jump, likely to escape the orbital bombardment that had commenced on it's shield. I'd also suggest you be quiet, we aren't alone out here." The Alien growled.

"Oh…" Zaeed fell silent. The air tasted of iron and ash. Twilight was colored queerly, hints of green and purple burned across the sky. Smoke swam in this torrid glow, and ash swirled into twisted caricature, mocking the gentle clouds forced into retreat.

The fate of this city hung in the air, the purple snow twinkling in the choking smoke. "We are close to my camp human, try not to annoy my fellows-" Something whizzed past them, and the alien hit the dirt in the blink of an eye. A roar of displeasure met the rancorous snaps of the Raptor's guns. The Sangheili screamed something alien, before sloughing Zaeed into the dirt. In a moment, a plasma rifle was in hand, and blasting it's glowing retort in the general direction of the enemy. "Use this human!" Zaeed barely caught the plasma pistol lobbed towards him.

"Is this a fucking antique!?" The marine fumbled briefly with the circular weapon, before launching his own barrage of fire down range. Christ. Pinned down in the middle of a street… They were of course lucky. The wide boulevards of New Landing were usually not marked with terrible craters, and thus, would have been a killing field if not for the massive hole in the pavement. Raptor siege warfare once again working against them. The Warrior took a long look down range, shields absorbing the few stray pellets that managed to hit him, before pulling back into the little foxhole they now called home. "You don't happen to have any smokes!?" Zaeed shouted.

"I would have used them! It seems their holdout is 120 meters up street, I will shield you in a dash toward cover."

"What?" Zaeed was pulled into a bear hug as the alien _leapt_ into the air, in a sprint toward the slightly more defensible ruins of… something. The plinks of Raptor bullets impacting the shield scattered like rain, before something got through. A sharp sting brought Zaeed back from awe-struck contemplation- shit, his hand! The biting heat of his new wound settled on him as they reached cover. "Fuck you!" He directed at no one in particular. He hoped his voice carried to the encampment. Or that his shield would magically start working again. Either or really.

A voice squawked in the alien's headset, and a fierce bout of yelling began between the alien and presumably the alien's contact. Zaeed took the time to peek back onto the street. A bullet zipped past him for the trouble. Okay, fine. Fuck you. That didn't stop him from seeing the slow, inexorable advance of the Raptor force. "The enemy is advancing buddy! You have a plan?"

"I'm working on it human! Hold them off!"

"With what!" The Elite tossed it's storm rifle without a second thought, returning to it's debate with his handler, or whoever. It was a hefty thing, practically as big as his arm, but it'd have to do. He maneuvered the weapon, and began to spray-fire the thing into the street, hoping it'd at least give them second thoughts. Still, it wouldn't hold them off for long. Indeed, it barely stemmed the wave of fire that quickly rendered the weapon a smoking piece of junk. Zaeed barely had time to shout before the Elite latched onto his shoulder, and pulled him away from the blossoming power of a plasma explosion.

A sharp beam of green erupted from a fuzzy mass of air in the sky, casting the surroundings in an emerald sheen. The earth shook as the ray smashed into the ground, and the unlikely pair was buffeted by a wave of hard air and sweltering heat. The marine, weak from his injuries, barely weathered the storm of hot plasma. The second blast swept him off his feet in short order. The third beam was probably overkill. In a moment, the patterns of sharp air seemed to refine, first into shape, then color, and then fully into the phantom that had been their savior. It lowered itself quickly to the ground, taking cover among the ruins as a tractor beam emerged from the bottom.

"Quickly human!" The warrior was on his feet in a snap, dragging the marine by the armor plates. As the adrenaline thudded softer in his ears, and his body was ushered quickly into the air, and into the safety of the newly cloaking craft, his eyes lingered on the smoking ruins of the street, and the dazed survivors -the few there were- ogling the sight in awe.

* * *

John shoved the garage door back open. "Let's go." He said tersely, sending the boy scrambling out. No vehichle again...

At least Kaiden was good at following orders. A lucky thing, as John had little experience with children who didn't. The kid was superbly light-footed, extremely quiet. Only spoke when spoken to. There was certainly something more to that. Not many children went through what he had survived. Few saw what he saw. Fewer lived to tell of it. John debated saying something to him. And yet, he couldn't think of anything. John's trauma therapy had mostly consisted of… nothing. Hell, he'd never really been _punished_ for anything in his life...

He was never one for tricks and pranks, he had to admit. That was… he… what was his name? On Reach, it was Kurt wasn't it? Who played that joke on Kelly? Or was it Linda? He tried to see their face, the smile they sported, the laugh they shared before being silenced… a host of faces flashed before him. All of his friends, their eyes, their noses, Linda's fiery hair, Grace's faint freckles, Anton's… he couldn't remember Anton-

"Chief? Your vitals are spiking, are you doing alright?"

Cortana. He remembered her at least. "I'm fine Cortana." It seemed she didn't agree, being that she appeared in a dialogue box with a look of determined concern. Kaiden was quicker on the draw.

"Who's Cortana?" Came a choked voice. _Fuck, I thought I'd-_ Cortana took the lead.

"Hi! My name's Cortana, I'm your friend's AI." The AI managed in a whisper through John's speakers.

"Cortana…" John began, (muted this time) as he pulled the boy into a studier piece of ruin.

"Oh, uh, that's cool. What do you do?" Kaiden asked, mimicking the almost breathless whisper of his new companion. Something brightened in his eyes for a brief moment, and the huff of 'wasting time' and 'dangerous territory' seemed to die in John's throat. Cortana was already responding to the question as the Spartan eked out a silent "3 minutes."

It was a quick three minutes. The child spit out questions about as fast as Cortana could answer, and for a moment, things almost seemed, okay? He couldn't describe the feeling he felt watching the exchange, seeing the little twitch of a smile edge into Kaiden's expression, the… cute..? Little attempts he made to stifle his laughter tugged at something he'd never felt before. When Cortana cut the kid off, a part of John almost regretted it. "Let's get a move on." he grumbled, briefly checking his surroundings, before marching back into the street. There was a weapons depot close by.

That brief ray of light was quickly shoved into the small part of John's brain, where he held his good memories. All around him was death. The purple flecks floated ever-presently, gathering in the crooks and furrows of the war torn city. Covering the bodies in a parody of color, violet mixing with violent shards of blood and gore. The corpses of the Raptors offered an occasional respite from contrast, the drying blue melding with lavender, forming a strange harmony of color. All was framed by the glorious sky, itself a reflection of the carnage below.

It was in this awesome sight that he heard it. Over the incessant din of gunfire and low rumbles. It was unmistakable, even miles away. "Covenant?" he whispered. Cortana was quick to chime in.

"It sounds like a plasma cannon… should we-"

"Kaiden! Come here." The boy was in place in mere seconds. "We need to make it somewhere _fast_, I need you to hold onto me." The Spartan picked the child up as if he were holding an unwieldy load of laundry, and placed Kaiden on his back. "Hold tightly." He said, before he began sprinting toward the target.

It had been awhile since he'd ran quite this fast. He noticed the lag in his step, the slight pain he felt as his heavy footfalls carried him over the ruined terrain. Deft placements of his boot crushed concrete shards, and bent rebar steel. Sent horrible reverberations through his bones. But that was not the issue. He'd done worse and survived unscathed. He'd broken worse, and suffered through it. This was nothing.

It was a short run, though not as fast as he would've expected. What he found wasn't welcome. The deep scar carved into the earth was still smoking, still burning its angry red. The asphalt still ran in some places, the violence of the blast having _melted_ the road where it had not simply obliterated it. And yet, where was the Covenant? Their gaudy purple could be spotted for miles. Hell, from what Cortana had told him he'd assumed they didn't even exist anymore…

John let that confusion simmer for a moment, before realizing what the target had been. Raptor corpses were strewn about the place, half burnt in some locals, or reduced to mere metallic shells.

"Nice to see we're all on the same page…" Cortana quipped, "I can't pick up significant readings Chief, I think we missed the party. At least for now…"

John ducked back into cover, pulling the boy with him. _I need to get some sort of vehicle, but nothing around here seems to… _

"John! 6:30!" He turned quickly, saw the half burned body of a Raptor. Propped up against a wall, it's face was practically shattered by force, and it's armor was barely visible beneath the layer of soot and cinder. But it was alive, and pointing it's gun. Not at him.

The Spartan lept for the boy, who it seemed was simply staring at the menacing alien. And yet, 10 meters in half a second? Impossible.

John heard the shot before he dared look. But when he looked, a purple glow had enveloped the child. That didn't matter now. He had to get him out of here. Now.

* * *

Nobody knew what was happening. That was a common occurrence for Jessa nowadays. Something wasn't right with her body, with her mind. She couldn't stop _feeling_. Reaching out with something she couldn't explain. She… she simply couldn't understand the _power_ that was coursing through her.

It started when she awoke. Something jostled her, and her eyes flew open in an instant. She tried to move, to scream, but found no words, and barely any strength.. She did raise her hand, trying to stop whatever it was, and heard the scream. Well, the yelp. It was only when she turned that she saw it. The burning blue coursing down her arms. She started screaming herself, if she was honest. Probably would have done more, had her catheter not been in. She felt no shame in that. Most people don't wake up on fire, generally speaking. In any case, yeah, she was burning for a solid 5 minutes. Only screaming for the first minute. Well, that was until someone came in with a fire extinguisher. That put a damper on the calm atmosphere.

The next fire came an hour later, as a nurse was running a test on her blood. The little pinprick caused her eyes to flare, 'Like a blue demon' according to the nurse's testimony. She didn't know what was wrong. Why they'd moved her to an isolation ward, and why they only came to talk to her in hazard suits. She felt more and more like a freak, which if she reasoned it out, she essentially was.

A kind doctor, a man with sharp eyes and an easy smile, came in to ask her questions. 'What does it feel like when you "flame?" Can you make it happen right now?' stuff like that. She didn't know what his name was, she never managed to get the question out in time. Shyness came easy to Jessa, especially when you were in a top-secret government facility, being treated like a peculiar rat in a peculiar maze. At least he didn't wear the suits with her now. He just kept an arms length.

The stress made it easy for the flames to show again at least. It took a nice meal, and a bit of rest for it to… recharge? And then... **BAM**! The flames ignited! It was a rush of energy, of _power,_ that consumed her. The power was always there, creeping at the back of her mind. It was like… how she felt when she wanted to stretch her arms, but _all_ _the time_. Releasing that built up power felt... good she supposed? Like a nice scratch on a persistent itch, or finishing a race after a burst of speed, completing a hard video game… it was satisfying. Thrilling, even.

The true realization of her power came entirely on accident (not uncharacteristically mind) when Smiles (As she called her nameless doctor friend) dropped his tablet right in front of her. She reached out to try and save it from a likely inconsequential tumble, and caught it! Just, not with her hands.

That was the first time she'd seen Smiles without one.

And that had been the state of her for the past few days. Flexing what seemed to be telekinesis out of boredom, as they'd refused her access to a tablet, a phone, hell, even dusty old books! That meant it was just her in what she soon began to regard as a cell. She'd managed to decorate the place somewhat. They'd found it within themselves to at least give her a dry-erase.

She'd taken up writing on the walls. It was relaxing, writing down her feelings, calculating orbital velocities, drawing pictures of the starships that she'd hoped to fly. Her dreams of entering the pilot academy seemed so far away now. Flying interstellar big-rigs was cool and all, ran in the family, as Uncle Arna used to say, but she'd always wanted more.

She was in the middle of drawing an old Longsword when the door opened. Good old Doctor Smiles entered. "Oh hey Smiles! What's…" he was followed by a dour looking woman, shoulders straight and legs girded by a drab grey pencil skirt. "...up."

"Jessica! I'd like you to meet the Director of Research at our Installation, Thalia Sarama!" The tight lipped woman managed a tight grin, as she stuck her hand out.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Shepard." She spoke in smooth voice, her light brown eyes meeting my own in a quizzical, perhaps even studious way.

"Uh… yeah…" Jessa shook her hand loosely, before slinking back to her hospital bed.

"I'm glad to see you're moving again, especially after such a nasty trauma. This whole episode must be really hard on you."

"Sure, um, sorry Director but, can we cut to the chase here? You're not just here to make small talk, we both know that." There's a certain relish in her voice, knowing that she could put a stop to this awkward conversation immediately.

"I… yes Ms. Shepard, let's do that." The woman took her seat across from Jessa, with Smiles taking position at her right. "During your trauma, it seems a large amount of a potent form of exotic matter has embedded itself in your lymph nodes."

Jessa… _Oh fuck, the Director actually enjoyed that didn't she… _The wave of satisfaction she'd been riding slammed into the rocks, just as fast as it began.

"Like… cancer?" Her heart thudded in her chest. She'd heard about cancers arising from plasma wounds before, but _this_ fast-

"We're not sure Jessica. But we have good reason to believe that it's not dangerous, at least not yet. It seems that your body has integrated a substance we've recently discovered, called 'Null,' into your lymph and nervous systems." A look was exchanged between her two interrogators.

Smiles spoke up this time. "There is a possible explanation for your condition, but I need your assurance that it will be kept secret Jessa." Jessa flinched. He'd never called her that before.

"I… sure. I just want to know what's going on!"

There was a pause, before the the Director leaned forwards. "Jessica, what do you know of the 'Mantle of Responsibility?'"

* * *

The _Merry Dancer_ was in better shape than one would expect. That didn't manage to remove the bitter taste in Heras' mouth, or the shaking of his fist. "Zizka?" Was all Heras had to say to make the AI appeared before him. Instead of his true form, the intelligence had been reduced to a shapeless glow of purple light. It seemed even the AI was stretched thin by the circumstances.

"Receiving Captain." There was no mirth in his voice, only the cold skeleton of duty.

"I'd like a status report on Lt.-"

"Deceased. Sorry Captain. Nothing we could do. Is there anything else?"

"I- nothing Zizka." The AI's predictive speech terrified him sometimes. The AI was gone in a moment, back to running and aiding the various other tasks of the ship. Usually other junior AI would be helping him run things, but those had been stripped from the ship to aid in the defense of New Landing. Who knew where they were now, if they were even still alive? And Lieutenant Jin? Dead? Christ. They'd taken significant damage plotting their jump. With so little time to plot a course, gravitational interference had taken its toll on the vessel. As had enemy ships, as they plotted micro jumps through the dark. The Translight was still fucked six ways to Sunday, and that meant nothing but bad things. Still, _Dancer _made it to the rendezvous point. And had found nothing.

True, gas giants were, well, giant. But there are few places a ship can safely rest within one, as the _Dancer _currently was. And indeed, even fewer places to gather food and much needed medical supplies. Water filtration was running over time and water was _still_ running low across the ship. And food? They were just scraping by on S-Rations. They'd be officially out of food in about four days, Feeding this many people after your food stores are raided by besieged civilians was no easy task. Christ, this whole business was no easy task. They'd been out here chasing ghosts for days, and had continued to find nothing. He was seriously considering ditching the ship in atmosphere, and finding somewhere to hide his crew in atmosphere.

"Captain! I'm picking up a slipspace transition! Estimated size at less than five ships!"

That was a promising number. "IFFs?"

"It's the Shanxi Fleet!" Ji- Lt. Arbridge turned in his seat, excitement plain on his face. "We might be able to reach them in time Sir!"

"Where are they?" Heras cooly responded. He couldn't get too excited about this, not yet. "Why have they shown themselves like this? Can you get a tight beam to them Arbridge?"

"Not from inside atmosphere Captain, our concentrator is still fried."

"Nako, prepare the mayday message, and have Vang patch up our engines best he can, we're going to intercept-" Heras was making his way to tactical as the engines sputtered to life. It shook the ship, and the inertial dampeners struggled to maintain cohesion, as the _Dancer_ shook itself awake. Heras stumbled only briefly.

"Raptor vessels are approaching the fleet Captain! Ten ships, even spread of Corvettes/ Light Frigates. I'm detecting weapons fire!"

"We need to jump fast Helm! Prepare your calculations! Sidhu! How's our MAC!"

"Fucked Sir!"

Heras swore under his breath. "How many shots?"

Sidhu was frantic, typing hard into the console, as her subordinates scrambled around her. "Three, maybe? Yeoman missiles are barely operational Captain, we're at 25% operational readiness… I can't recommend we engage anything right now."

Zizka appeared now, his form remarkably together. "Captain, we can't afford not to try! We won't last without their assistance!"

Sidhu stood. "And if we die in the attempt?"

"We'll die if we do nothing!"

"Enough!" Heras finally shouted over the two. "If we don't do this, we die! We can't let our fears stop us-" A loud, impressive blaring shook the deck. Arbridge went white. "Captain… we're receiving a slipspace signal… estimated size at 250 ships…"

The bridge went silent.

"On main screen." Heras breathed.

The _Dancer _broke through the clouds, as the relief fleet smashed a hole back into reality. A smattering of forces pushed their way out of a swirling hole ripped in spacetime. First came the Screening Fleet, a smattering of 'Minesweepers' and Light Frigates. Then, the sleek frames of Harvest-Class Destroyers, the thick hulls of Hoplite-Class Heavy Cruisers, the long, dagger like outline of Jupiter-Class Artillery Ships. And of course, the Super-Carrier.

"I'm receiving an… an all call Captain…"

"Play it Arbridge."

It came clear as crystal. "This is Garrison Fleet 3, from the UNSC _Indomitable_. The cavalry has arrived."

**A/N:**

***EDIT: OH GOD IT'S KAIDEN NOT AIDEN! I'M SO SCREWED, THERE ARE LIKE THREE CHAPTERS WITH KAIDEN IN IT...**

**Tldr: The Cavalry Arrived. I'd like to thank everyone for the 500 FAVORITES! WHAT!? I'M SO HONORED AND HAPPY AND WHY IN GOD'S NAME DO YOU LIKE THIS!? $#%#**

**Ah, anyway. Thank you for all your support and please, I hope you enjoyed today's update. The next chapter has been long awaited, I'm sure. So far, it's coming out to something like 7000 words, which means that it's gonna be awhile. My bad, leaving you guys on a cliffhanger this juicy. I can't promise when this guy will come out, but I'm betting sometime in about three weeks. Again, thanks for all your support lads and lasses, I can't express how much it means. **

**Please write reviews! They keep the pencil sharp, and they allow me to answer questions you may have! It's a win-win!**


	11. Chapter 11: A Rude Awakening

**Chapter 11: A Rude Awakening**

**A/N: Prepare yourselves for the second battle of Shanxi! This is by far the longest chapter yet, at just over 7000 words, so maybe grab a snack? By-the-by, give a listen to 'Not A Number' followed presently by 'Kilindini Harbor' from the Halo 2 Soundtrack, if you're feeling like some appropriate music to accompany the first part of the chapter! **

Drescher was vibrating. People don't get to give history-making one-liners often. Garrison Officers especially. She stepped down from her podium, and observed her crew returning to their work. Her command deck was a thrum of activity: officers, AI, aids, all of them buzzing around in the hive that was fleet command. A small part of her missed the Bridge and it's wide vistas and the commanding presence one felt. But, it simply wasn't helpful for commanding an armada. As a result, she was now buried deep in the heart of the _Indomitable_, in Central Command.

That didn't mean she regretted her decision, Drescher still reigned absolute over countless tons of equipment, over 400 thousand crew, and some of the deadliest weapons to ever exist. That shit made your blood pump. She made her way to Tactical, by far the most clustered part of this cluster fuck. Her arrival made her motley crew jump to attention, and begin shoving tablets, e-papers and various other insanities towards her. Leaving slipspace was always fun in a fleet, as hundreds of Captains reported in, and were tallied and marked on the massive tactical map on the front and back walls.

Shanxi stood, marked green, only a seemingly small 400 AU away. That put her own forces in orbit around the super-jupiter known only as Theta3. And, according to UNSC policy, right beside what might remain of the Shanxi Garrison. "Comms! How's the penetration survey going?"

"We haven't found any sign yet commander, give it a few- We've got something! IFFs mark… only one ship…" A little sigh spread through the crowded room, but Drescher didn't let the blow marr her. She couldn't, not here.

"Put us in contact Comms, and keep searching for signals."

"Aye ma'am!"

Scanners stood next. "Admiral, we've identified an entity matching the given description of the Tuning Forks described. We're also picking up unknown IFFs in and around the Shanxi gravity well, and in various smaller sections across the system."

"You think they saw us?" The Admiral asked, a grin on her face. A polite chuckle left the mouths of those in the vicinity, as the officer himself struggled to keep his lip straight.

"Likely Ma'am, at the moment we're estimating between 300 and 450 vessels in system based on squadron density and gravitational disturbances, most of them are centered around the Fork and the colony, but isolated pockets do exist."

"Understood Sensors, begin establishing our Dragnet, I don't want too many surprises today understood?" Drescher didn't spare a breath before wheeling to another station. "OOB! Establish hunter-killer protocols, and set up manned squadrons, I'm setting aside 50 light/mediums from Wings 1, 3, and 4 to be assigned to destroy straggler forces. Designate callsign CALVARY. Take no significant risks! It seems we're already fighting undermanned, I do not want to be forced from the field before reinforcements arrive."

"Admiral, Rear Admiral Hohe is requesting permission to deploy the scout fleet?"

"Granted Comms, no chances from those bastards got it?"

"Strategic command is receiving battle statistics from allied AI designated 'Zizka,' shall I set up a general briefing?"

"Prioritize vessel information for me, I'll set something for the next hour; anything else urgent flight deck!"

"Receiving broadband signal from orbit of Shanxi!" Comms immediately jumped into action, along with the vast majority of his assigned officers. "IFF signals have failed to be identified! Analysis in progress Admiral!" Drescher made her way towards the commotion, as the noise of the room dampened. "AI estimates with 99.97% certainty that the message is clean, shall we take a listen?"

"Deploy privacy screen." A clear 'film' of shield developed around the communication station, and the air grew fuzzy, as sound became heard in perfect clarity. "Play it."

It was a video message, it's quality perfectly transcripted. Before her laid a… something? A strange, angular carapace covered what she assumed was it's face, with strange inset eye sockets that appeared almost black on the screen before her, leaving its orange eyes to bore directly into the feed. It's face was a bony white, with red and orange stripes marking the areas above its eyes, and between them. She could only see it's face, which made the uncomfortable close up seem intentional at least. Its face split at where she'd assumed its mouth would be, and began to speak. Whatever language it spoke did not match the noticeably artificial voice that snapped from the speakers.

"Trespasser, you have entered space occupied by the Turian Hierarchy, powerdown your vessels and-"

"I think we've heard enough of this. Turn it off, and scrub the transmission for a translation matrix. Otherwise, have someone start working on a translation codex. In the meantime, I get the feeling they can understand us. Let's call 'em back."

* * *

Litrinox was about to demand an explanation of his increasingly manic banner officer, when the sensors deck exploded into activity. Without the Sensor Officer to filter it all, junior officers and aids just started spewing reports into the void. "Detecting gravitational disturbances in sectors 1440AF3 through-" "Scout ships report extreme radiological disturbances-" "-Can't find any word on numbers-"

"QUIET!" Litrinox roared. "Sensors! Return to your post and get me something out of that mess!" The man jumped from his position, and raced for his seat, while Litrinox ran his hands through his crest. "Tactical, get me an update!"

Tactical was in no better a state, though at least he was at his post. "Admiral, scout teams report estimates of over 350 ships, some are putting it higher, IFF tags seem to match those for human forces already encountered, but readings are fuzzy-"

Sensors screamed out an update, "Admiral! Enemy forces are marked on our tac-map! New estimates from combined sensor grid estimate gravitational displacement of approximately 550 vessels, but we're getting conflicting reports: silhouette scans report approximately 200 vessels, but this doesn't line up with our identification protocols at all!"

Comms piped up too, "I'm getting confirmation of Sensors' readings from the rest of the fleet, Admiral Hirabix wants a sitrep as soon as possible, and our Commodore's aren't far behind Admiral. Ground forces are worried about this as well-"

"Understood Comms, I'll have a strategic meeting in five. Tactical, Pull back all exposed patrol fleets beyond those directly observing our unidentified fleet-" This drew a new temper from his Sub-Admiral.

"Admiral! You cannot possibly be entertaining the idea that these aren't enemy forces!"

"We must consider all available scenarios here Sub-Admiral, I will exhaust all other possibilities. Comms, direct a standard heave-to warning."

"Understood sir." Comms sounded skeptical, hell the entire bridge did. But, well, they still needed hope. Litrinox had to give it to them. The next few minutes were more of the same. More violent reports, the centralization of the fleet, and more and more accurate scans of the enemy force. And, of course, the recalling of the advanced fleet from beyond the relay. Made up of parts of the 109th Garrison Fleet that his task force had, ah, 'requisitioned;' most of the assault frigates and cruisers of the outer colonies had been requisitioned on his order. It was, in two words, utterly illegal. But the potential risk was far outweighed by the rewards right? Well, Litrinox remained convinced of that. He had to remain convinced, else all this was for naught.

In anycase, this force made up nearly a hundred ships of prodigious quality, and expanded his already significant numbers advantage. _450 ships now stood against what was rapidly seeming to number barely 200, (despite what the glitched gravimetric readings had to say) hopefully we could_-

"Admiral, receiving unidentified forces' response system-wide on all frequencies. "

Ice laced its way through his body. "Play it Comms."

The human that appeared on the screen was the female variant, at least according to Medical's estimations. It was almost uncanny how closely these females resembled the Asari; indeed, it was practically identical excepting their crests, replaced on humans by a mass of fine hairs. This human was no exception. It's eyes were of an ashy quality, and it's face seemed soft, yet had a strikingly angular structure that amplified the seemingly predatory nature of the species. It was dressed in a crisp gray suit, armor padding its chest, with ribbons of gold and onyx crenulation marking it's shoulders with bars, and it's left chest with strange colored patterns, an avian perched above a blue orb wreathed by green leaves.

It began to speak, and the translator program followed shortly. "Turian Hierarchy vessels, this is Admiral Drescher of the United Nation's Space Command _Indomitable_. Your forces have without provocation destroyed human military vessels and have invaded and occupied our colonies. If you do not immediately withdraw your ground forces from our planet, and your fleet and transportation devices from this system, your persons and equipment will be eliminated with extreme force. This is our final warning."

The feed cut, and there was silence on the deck. There was silence across the whole system, as commanders mentally prepared themselves for battle.

* * *

Jones dodged a fallen beam, as his carrier shuddered. _More Than One _had intercepted another blast meant for the crippled frigate _Publius._ Alien patrols had uncovered their hiding spot in the gas giant's rings, and that meant it was a mad dash into open space. It hadn't gone well, being that the _Publius_ broke down in the middle of the jump. Well, broke down was a bit of an understatement, given that the drive core had been cracked, and her superstructure compromised. Luckily, _More Than One_ was an Eion. Eions don't break.

"Admiral! Detecting slipsp-" A crash, and the sensors officer smashed against his console.

"Wear your damn belts Mashik!" was all Jones bothered to say in reply. It was damn foolish to _not_ be strapped in right now. Besides, whatever was happening right now was likely not nearly important as the fire streaming in. Shields were a joke at the moment, weapons was practically unable to do anything but load autocannons and fire wildly, and the air marshal was sitting in his chair, weeping silently.

Another hit, and comms turned back. "We've lost contact with friendly forces, our comms tower is damaged, I'm sending for repairs."

"Understood Comms. Helm, can we make intercept for projectile designation α-84?" Helm, a gruff and silent man, managed a nod to the affirmative, as the vessel shifted rapidly, straining the inertial dampeners even more, and stirring a groan from the bowels of the ship. Sooner or later, the stress to the frame would shred the _More_ in two, but there was no time to think about that. No time to think about anything really.

"What was our estimate for _Publius_' evacuation?"

"Only a few more minutes Admiral, but we have no way to actually confirm that until our tower is repaired."

"Good, hopefully they'll be able to escape in time."

"Captain, uh, enemy forces seem to be… retreating?" Tactical seemed puzzled, even in her emotionally deadened state. But the tactical map didn't lie, as it showed several enemy ships breaking away, exposing themselves to incoming fire. Sensors used this brief dead air to shout his own warning.

"Slipspace rupture danger close!"

"What!? Put it on main screen!"

The camera struggled to follow the zipping objects, traveling at not insignificant fractions of C from a swirl of blue near the back of the formation. The angular gray metal was unmistakable, even at this distance and speed.

"Get comms up now! And put us in range!" Such a request was needless, given the state of their would be pursuers. The lightning fast shards of metal, identified helpfully by the AI as state-of-the-art destroyers, were already tearing into enemy forces. A laughable resistance was being put up, as a torrent of poorly aimed cannon rounds and missiles struggled to find their mark. The beams of energy directed by human vessels had fewer problems. The kilometer long lead vessel was already burning a hole in the center of the enemy line of ships, melting through the core of what appeared to be the flagship, and skewering another vessel as it approached from 'above.' Two others, trailing the leader, spewed their own deadly beams, one sliding off a chunk of a corvette, another only singeing it's target as it sped past it, preparing for another pass.

The small, yet booming cannons of a growing flotilla joined the destroyers, as a squadron of frigates and their accompanying corvettes emerged from behind the ruined Eion, and shielded it's broken form from the raging battle.

The Turian forces were already fleeing, but not nearly so successfully as their prey had been. A corvette on the far-right flank was shredded by a well aimed MAC round that gutted her, a cluster of missiles overpowered another's shields, and a third was deleted by a nuclear mine laid by a destroyer. What was left of the alien force launched themselves into FTL, one only barely escaping the onslaught of a MAC round. The bridge processed this moment in silence, as the protective hardlight shields of multiple vessels patched gaping holes in the superstructure.

"Admiral, comms tower is back online." The Admiral didn't waste his shaky breath with an order, and simply nodded to her. The technician was quick in hailing the heavy cruiser that served as the flagship for the relief force. But the line was quiet. Jones didn't have any words left to say. He only stood, and tried one last time to stifle the utter exhaustion he had been suppressing for the last few days.

When he spoke, the calmness of his expression broke into uncontrollable emotion. "This… this is Admiral Jones of the Shanxi Defense Fleet… thank you…"

* * *

"CALVARY reports destruction of advanced Turian forces. Additional remnants of SDF have been recovered, total tonnage recovered now numbers five vessels, though all are in poor condition." As the tactical officer finished their report, Drescher allowed herself a grin.

"Friendly casualties?" The Admiral asked.

"None appreciable ma'am."

"Excellent, relay a division of CAV forces into two parts, and have them pick apart remaining stragglers… how's our intercept looking?" Drescher's fleet had already covered a vast amount of territory within the system, and as of this moment was hurtling toward a desolate grey planet hugging the bounds of the inner asteroid belt called Theta2. A fantastic point for a gravity assist into the inner solar system, and specifically Shanxi. The invaders couldn't let us secure it, and thus, battle was inevitable. The main body of the fleet's assault force would be intercepting whatever enemy force managed to arrive before them. Drescher's own contingent force, the 50 or so odd battleships and artillery vessels, along with a screening force of carriers and frigates, would arrive just after the shocking blow of the spearhead, the light frigates, destroyers, and cruisers, to blast apart any undue resistance. And, perhaps, secure the prize she'd been planning for.

"Admiral! Slipspace jump is on schedule, we'll be arriving in 20 minutes."

"Thank you navigation, IOPs!" Drescher walked quickly towards the little corner of the room occupied by 'Infantry and Orbital Personnel.' "How's our little surprise coming along?"

The officer in charge, Lt. Mosley, was a man of few words, and deep tone. "Two of our prowlers are being fitted. They will leave when able."

"Wonderful, tell Roj and Kilney to send the bastards my regards."

An aid found Drescher just as a notification went off in her neural lace. "Admiral, our tactical briefing is ready in Conference Room One, we're sending a modified version to officer's laces across the fleet."

"I'll be there in a moment then." The aide promptly vanished into a sea of activity, which left the Admiral with nothing to do but make her way back towards her impending meeting.

* * *

"What do you mean they 'just destroyed you!'" Litrinox bellowed. Spit flew from his mouth, something unbecoming of a Turian school boy, much less the Admiral of the Fleet. And yet, most of his fellow Admirals and Captains felt much the same way. These primitive forces certainly had an extreme amount of fire power, and they were rather durable as well, but even against overwhelming odds, "You lost over half your forces and were routed from the field before their main force even arrived!? How is that even possible!?"

The Senior Captain among the survivors of their raiding party was a young woman, utterly and obviously shaken by the events that had occurred only mere minutes before. After all, Captain Jialtrai was only a junior officer, a Captain for only the last few months, who had been stationed to garrison a farflung colony rather than an active war zone. Before today, she'd never even been in active combat. Today, she saw an entire task force reduced to scrambled retreat.

"I… they were just so fast Admiral… and their beam weapons were… we couldn't put up any fight! Our guns could barely track them!" Jialtrai countered, bare emotion edging into her voice. "Besides, their forces had Dreadnoughts! At least three Admiral, three ships over 1000 meters long, all of them moving faster than a corvette!"

Litrinox appeared ready to spew out another diatribe at that, but his Sub Admiral was ready with a relevant comment. "Captain, please have you crew send your battle logs at once, in the meantime what remains of your force will rejoin the primary garrison at the colony. You are dismissed."

Litrinox stared daggers into Desolas, but he didn't bother to countermand the order. The Captain bowed sharply, and disappeared from the display. Leaving the group of Admirals, Sub Admirals, and Commodores silent before a looming threat. The small, electronically secure room they were arrayed within, both in person and via projectors, was tight, yet necessary to protect against their AI problem.

Desolas took the stage once more. "I don't think we can hold our position on the gravity assist anymore." A ripple of low grumblings and affirmations took the small group from quiet contemplation to bickering as the party lines formed once again. Desolas was the head of an ever growing faction within the Banner Officers, one calling for tactical withdrawal from the system they'd fought hard to secure. Litrinox had been clear on his opinions toward _that_ particular idea, and had stomped it down many a time before.

The Admiral took no time restating that opinion. "Desolas I have withstood this insolence enough times from you-"

"Admiral, please! You can see as well as I the effectiveness of this force, our time would be better spent evacuating this system than preparing for some futile defense against an overwhelming enemy! I mean, spirits! Dreadnoughts in a vanguard!?"

"It was probably a deception-"

"Well it worked! Can we truly call the bluff on something like that!? You remember the losses we took in our initial encounter, if such casualties occur again how could we hope to survive!"

"Silence! Our defensive position is more than enough to negate the losses we took before! You are out of line Desolas! Now return to it, before I am forced to demote you!"

Desolas choked back a laugh, before coming to an expression of incredulity, then disgust. "You have not half the support necessary for it." The Sub Admiral turned his back to Litrinox. "I shall leave you to your doomed defense... I hope you're right, you know. But I know you won't be." The man left the room to a stunned Litrinox. He wanted to sputter a reply, but thought better of it. He turned, and tried to regain control of his briefing.

"...Admiral Jaikur, as was discussed, I want your frigates skirting the outer edges of the zone of battle…"

* * *

The space above that barren planet was black. Dark and unfeeling in all aspects. The Turian vessels that hung in the vacuum drifted listlessly. Their lights blinking like stars in the vast space. Eyes turned to the heavens. Systems checking and rechecking. The few slipspace detectors that managed to work, in their jerry-rigged manner, began to detect something. Across dozens of ships, klaxons blared their horns, screens flashed, and sensors officer's gave the same speech about the inaccuracies of the sensors. A feeling of dread, resolution, fear, permeated the ranks of the Turian forces.

Then, a part of reality broke down. A pair of particles, infinitesimal in scale to the universe around it, came into existence for a brief, shining moment, separated by dimension, and drawn toward each other inexorably. They accelerated at speeds incomparable to light, reconciliation forced the particle faster than anything that could conceivably exist, and faster still. Fast enough that it broke a hole in reality itself. A gaping vortex, swirling blue and white, then purplish black as the gaping wound solidified, erupted in activity as the angular human vessels escaped the space between realities.

Some went flinging toward the Turian line, trying to line up the beam weapons on masses of enemy forces, while others began to lob magnetized rounds and plasma tips as soon as they could see the winged vessels. Other portals opened across the battlefield, some skirting the edge of the battle, others opening among the alien lines entirely. Slow, hulking vessels, devoid of primary weapons (causing confusion among the ranks of Turian tacticians) began to spew out hundreds of fighters, bombers, and missiles that couldn't hope to be tracked.

But such horrors as carriers were not the main concern among the Turian officers. What horrified them was the sheer _size_ of the enemy. Even as MAC rounds and hardlight began to smash unwary Turian frigates to bits, the Turian Admiral couldn't believe the size of the vessels he was facing, just how many dreadnought sized vessels had managed to appear before him. But he cautioned himself to panic. They still had a numbers advantage after all, 300 vessels against barely 100? 2000 meter ships with no direct armaments were certainly not going to change the pace of battle, even if the swarms of fighters they began to spawn were already outnumbering Turian flight crews three-to-one.

The zipping flys that were human light and heavy frigates served their own disruptive role, dipping in and out of enemy lines with well placed FTL. Just as the enemy began to learn their trick, decoy portals are placed, drawing important fire, and leaving long, spinal guns out of position for the next attack run. Nuclear flares burn holes into unlucky turian frigates, and force cruisers into tight formations of self-protecting fire. Formations that packs of destroyers could blast apart with ease.

Turian forces were paralysed by utter panic. Even the three dreadnoughts, wielding the largest guns the Turians had, the flagships of the Turian force, could only _just_ break the shields of enemy Frigates. But for every Human vessel that took an unlucky hit to their reactor, or a devastating round to the bridge, one of the already dwindling numbers of Turian cruisers would be messily bisected, countless vessels annihilated by well aimed plasma torpedoes, and an endless barrage of cannon rounds that, if one is lucky, merely gutted the unlucky craft hit, rather than venting atmosphere, or sending the ship into a lethal spin.

The battle was no easier for the already overwhelmed fighters of the Turian navy. The mass effect gave them maneuverability, but that was no cure for the disease that was the UNSC's pure numbers. The tables were turned, if only in a microcosm of combat. Still, it was no help that human strategic bombers faced barely any resistance by the 10th minute of combat, and were all but impervious to the GUARDIAN point defense systems that were designed to ignore shields, not burn through them.

It was about now that all vestiges of tact and valor left in the Admiral of the Turian Fleet left him. It happened as a fellow dreadnought had it's drive core destabilized, and it's reactor containment melted down. The THS _Ganter_, the pride of its fleet, had her crew so violently irradiated by the meltdown that they were dead in seconds. All by the well placed bomb of a single bomber. Admiral Jaikur had tried to save the vessel, but the point defense Corvettes he'd dispatched could barely melt through the energy shields present on a single fighter. He watched, helpless, as his forces withered on the line. He'd be the first Admiral to lose a dreadnought in combat since the Krogan Rebellions. Jaikur didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that.

The battle continued to go poorly as Jaikur ordered his retreat. A secondary group of human forces swung around the planet in a gravity assist, springing a trap on forces that were expecting some reprieve in the area away from combat. Although Turian forces there put up a fight, the lightning fast ships, accelerating with help from the gravity well, zipped past with only minimal damage, and scored their own deadly shots on the wounded craft.

But the ships on this intercept were by no means similar to those already encountered. For with them was a section of light cruisers, Epizeuix-Class vessels bristling with three primary MACs, 1500 meters of metal and fire, headed straight for the two remaining flagships. Calling what ensued 'panic,' would be a gross underrepresentation of what the mere appearance of those vessels did to the Turian lines.

The appearance of the Human capital ships magnified that reaction a thousand-fold. The appearance of the gargantuan slipspace portal was already a horrifying sight to the crew of the defense fleet, but what emerged: the massive barrel hulls of the heavy battleships, assault carriers, and the flagship herself, the UNSC _Indomitable_. The flagship gave her welcome to this dimension with a twin firing of her SMAC, an action that, if only briefly, slowed the vessel in her charge into the frontline, and unceremoniously deleted a Turian Cruiser from existence with dual plasma-charged rods. The battle of Theta2 was won in that moment. But it was not over. Admiral Drescher still needed her prize. In the heart of Central Command, the Admiral placed an order, and a prowler, hiding in the debris of a shredded frigate, made its move.

* * *

Prowlers were uncomfortable. Designed to operate at the extremes of stealth, these vessels were designed with every possible amount of excess space removed, as to allow its complex heat radiating mechanisms to work. That meant designing ships that were meant _specifically_ to fit average human dimensions, plus maybe a bit of armor. Spartan Vs were not that. And Spartan Roj was especially not that. Currently, he was crammed into the cafeteria, the largest room in the UNSC _Lament_, and yet one that could barely hold 20 people at once. Much less the 16 Spartans arrayed within.

Still, they had a job to do. One that was currently approaching at about 10,000 meters a second. This briefing had to go fast. The intermittent chatter of his squad was rather banal in comparison to that, he had to admit. Buhari was trying to fit his joke about the ill-fitting codpiece into conversation somehow, and Rockford was shutting him down at every opportunity. God, could those two bang already or what?

"Attention Spartans!" The room was silent in an instant. Roj couldn't help but smile as he took his position at what could generously be called a podium in the back of the room. "In less than 10 minutes, the _Lament _will be within striking distance of our primary target."

A holographic projection appeared above them, displaying the small vessel in the grand scheme of the battle. Turian ships blinked out of existence every so often, displayed as awesome blasts of violent energy, or pitiful winding-downs. "Our objective, as you're probably already aware, is the Turian Flagship, located here." He pointed to a now highlighted figure, surrounded by the skittering remains of the alien forces. "_Lament_ will be approaching from above, while _Recompense_'s team, led by Kilney, will be approaching from below. We have two objectives today Spartans, _Recompense_ will be going after the small potatoes, securing Engineering, server data, and anything else pertinent identified, holding down the fort till we can get our Marines inside. _We_, on the other hand, get the fun job. Secure VIPs, commandeer the vessel in the process, and give our Marines a chance to latch on."

"Why is your concept of fun always the hardest part of the job?" quipped Krusc, as he donned his greyish helmet.

Roj chose to ignore that comment entirely. "We will be approaching via standard boarding pods launched to these specific locations," A series of small dots appeared across the hull of the Turian vessel, "From there, your Fireteams' designated AI will use the data delivered to us by the Shanxi Garrison to guide you to your locations. If plans fail, attempt to disrupt or delay as much as possible. Recommending CQC weapons for everyone, that means you specifically Long, you're not bringing a marksman to a breach-and-clear understood?" Long, already wearing her maroon helmet, did her best impression of a sad mime.

"If Long is done, we have a final disclaimer. This is an alien race. You all received the briefing from upstairs about known enemy force multipliers, the rumors about 'wizards' especially. We don't know the validity of their claims, but we do know that soldiers on the ground believed they existed, and took heavy losses pushing them back. All their forces appear to be vulnerable to plasma and energy weapons, so be sure to pack some. Stay cautious in there, don't be afraid to link up if needed." Roj scanned his teams, then picked up the SMG he'd laid on the table. "We're going in standard fireteams today lads, Sigma Team report to airlock 1, Gamma to 2, Kappa to 3, and Beta gets to follow me to 4, any further questions?" The sounds of sliding weapons and shuffling armor answered that question masterfully. "Good! Get ready for launch, we have-" An alarm began to blare. "...no time. Get to it!"

It was a short walk to the cargo-pods, to say the least. A 200 meter long vessel isn't exactly a slow traversal, especially when you could run a one minute mile. Still, ducking under low hanging ceilings was a hassle, and meant that, as always, the gargantuan Spartan arrived last to the boarding pod.

"Nice of you to join us Roj." Krusc snickered as he cleaned his scattergun.

"Nice of you to wear your armor this time Krusc." He bit, clapping him on the back. "Roll call Beta Team."

"Krusc-1492 is present." Krusc waved.

"Long-2026 here." She slotted a plasma tipped rifle onto her back.

"Buhari-1071 seems to have misplaced his magnum..." Buhari intoned, a tinge of worry breaking into his normally smooth tone.

"You might want to check your belt big guy. And, Combat AI Alexios-6349-DP here. God, Buhari why is your HUD visibility so damn high?"

"Why are you judging my aesthetic decisions Alex? You don't even have eyes…"

"A fair assertion Buhari, counterpoint, it appears you can't even use yours to find your weapons."

Long let out a low whistle at that. "Damn Musra, hope Rockefeller wasn't in earshot for that!"

Roj chose that moment to butt in, "Load up assholes, we actually have something important to do right now." Roj tapped a button, and a small, cramped looking pod opened up in the back of the room. "In ya go lads, I trust you've actually packed everything?"

"We're not rookies here Roj, have a little faith! Even packed you some ointments to help that stick out your ass..." Krusc jabbed, as he pulled himself into the pod.

Roj shook his head, as he squeezed into the already cramped space. The fact that a human could fit inside at all was a miracle of ergonomics, the fact that Roj, a 7'6" Spartan, could manage to bordered on magic. Perhaps it was, he mused, as Buhari pushed himself in, followed finally by Long, who took her position at the pilot's chair.

"Bridge, cargo's loaded in Pod 4, you can fire when ready." Roj reported cooly.

"This is Bridge, Roj, formally designating you as leader for Beta Team, recording you as Beta Capsule, and will receive transmissions under callsign Beta, howcopy?"

"Loud and clear, time till go?"

"No time, Beta, godspeed and good hunting." A hard **WOOSH **of decompression and loss of gravity hit the pod, and in a moment the emergency lights went on, and the lightshow of space combat appeared in the viewport.

"I've sent best fit routes to your lace Long, accounting for likely obstacles." Alexios said, his avatar an orange flair of light, clouding a view screen to her right.

"Thanks Alex, we're on approach."

The battlefield was utter chaos. Behind a backdrop of exploding vessels and stray rounds of ammunition, the pod, barely 10 feet long at best, flung itself through the cold of space. Their target was obvious, as somehow it was avoiding the massive flairs of promethean beams and MAC rounds, while managing to be the biggest alien craft visible. Small flares of blue and white mark signs of combat across the view. Human vessels zipped through desperate groupings of targets like sharks through a school of fish, while distant ships belch metal and plasma, and flare with blue, or more often, redish-white hazes. The black was alive with color, and death. And they traversed it silently. As spectators, for the moment anyway. Alexios' plans worked swimmingly, as always. That didn't mean things didn't get dicey, but Long could do her job more than well. Dodging past dogfights, massive spaceships, or their deadly payloads, was no easy feat. And yet Long did it without issue, comment, or even a significant change in facial expression. Nerve wracking as the 20 minute flight may have been, Roj knew they were in good hands. And so he remained focused on the mission.

The enemy flagship hung in their viewport, still making a desperate escape out of the gravity well. At least, that was the running theory as to why they hadn't used whatever form of FTL they'd created. But our forces were still harassing them as much as possible as they attempted to flee. Hopefully that would keep them from escaping with us on the ship. Hopefully.

"Preparing for final approach, buckle-up everyone, it's about to get bumpy." Long intoned, as she swerved suddenly, and accelerated.

Stealth pods like this one had impressive thrusters, and limited cloaking abilities while doing so. This came at a cost of no inertial dampeners, and a very large increase in internal temperature. Not a comfortable ride, but survivable in short bursts. Long dodged the fighters currently harassing the Turian ship, and aligned the pod with the enemy, before slowing down. This was the fun part. Approach the vessel without being detected by the enemy point defense.

These last few moments were a delicate maneuver, especially with the rather unsophisticated engine attached to this thing. And yet Long managed to match velocity perfectly, and bring the vessel in gently. Ignoring the swiveling turrets that never managed to shoot directly _at _Beta Pod, the view port was slowly filled by the metallic gray of ship metal. Finally, Long steered the pod breachside, and turned on the super magnets, locking them to the ship. And making them beholden to its gravity. The supersoldiers instantly began to slide into what was now, confusingly, down.

Roj unlatched his seat, and fell to the entrance of the ship, a resounding clunk marking his arrival at the 'bottom.' "Alex, I'm in position, Beta! Form up, and prepare for breaching." A small commotion came up behind him, as Krush and Buhari joined him at his back.

"Prepping breach." Alexios said, as Long took up her position at the back. A deep, horrible thrum of energy erupted at their feet. "Estimated entry time approximately 5 seconds. 5...4...3...2…"

The Spartans initiated their Active Camo as the floor fell out beneath them, and soon found themselves climbing _up_ into the ship, as gravity began to work more naturally. That meant that the final layer of metal had to be pushed off. That was why Roj was in front. He braced himself against the rapidly cooling walls of the shaft they'd bored, and pushed the last slab of metal from the top, popping it like a cork, and shining a light into the tunnel. The interior was rounded, an ovid corridor painted white, with large encroaching crenulations circling the border between corridor segments. Alien words and small implements are arrayed uniformly, placed next to guiding lines, and various buttons and valves.

What caught most of Roj's attention was the dumbfounded Turian sailor that was just staring at the new denizen from in the ground. The black-suited Spartan drew his pistol and fired in the time it took the poor bastard to _think_ to reach for his gun. "Hostile encountered, no shield equipped." The Turian wasn't wearing any sort of armor, only what appeared to be a white cloth-like substance. "Pass me my SMG Long." A short bullet fed weapon shot up (or fell down?) the borehole, and Roj caught it in his left hand. The Spartan scanned the long hallways, and hoisted himself up. "Area clear, get on up here lads, mission's a go."

* * *

"Admiral, our drive core is 75% charged, we'll be able to jump through their fighter screen soon." Engineering reported cooly. Jaikur nodded, and said nothing. He hadn't said much at all since the destruction of the last dreadnought. He'd watched with tears in his eyes. The man didn't think he could speak without making an emotional mess of himself, which was why he had reduced himself to nods, and hand gestures. It wasn't like much else was needed. Shields continually reported the status of the kinetic barriers, Tactical tried to rally the rest of the fleet, the bare 150 ships left, with an increasingly despondent voice. She'd listened to the panic of dozens of officers as they realized there was no hope left to spare. Their screen of anti-fighter frigates and corvettes was gone, which left the THS _Weritroz _entirely exposed. How they hadn't succumbed to a torpedo was anyone's guess. It wasn't for long.

A long, low siren erupted from the central console. Even the Admiral was startled by that. He knew what it meant. Jaikur moved quickly from his position by the viewport to his chair, and pressed a button to shut the damn thing off in the Bridge. "Security, what's going on?"

The tired man sitting behind the Admiral spoke with incredulity in his voice. "We're getting reports around the ship of… spirits they sound like thresher maws Admiral! Boarders across all decks!"

"Mobilize our marine reserve and-"

"Admiral we _have_ no marine reserve, they're planetside!"

You could hear a pin drop in that room. "Security, I need you to coordinate with Engineering on gravity defense, Systems I need you to start venting air in all untraversed sectors, Sensors do we have a lock on their positions?"

"Yes Sir, but it's nonsensical… I'm getting internal readings in practically every corner of the ship!"

"I can't access primary controls for life support Admiral." Came Systems, "I can barely control our own? Diagnostics, I want you to run a reboot of our mainfra-"

Jiakur interrupted "It's no use! You remember what happened to the _Reticent_? I imagine that's what's happening to us! Systems, you still have control over this room correct?" The officer nodded yes. "Lockdown our cabin to verbal passcodes, we need a runner to start locking blast doors leading to the bridge-"

A dull roar sounded in the back, first cutting the Admiral off, and then launching him into the console he was standing before. "What the fuck was that!? Helm are we still moving?"

"No Sir! I'm getting an override from engine bay!"

"Engineering what is that?"

"I can't contact primary control Admiral, either they're being jammed or are dead. We're losing eezo-core power Sir, we're dead in the water."

Jiakur paused, his expression turning a shade darker. "Comms, if you can, broadcast a ship lost beacon. We can't have our forces be deceived if they manage to commandeer the vessel, Engineering I imagine you can't activate a self-destruct?"

"No sir, we're stuck here."

"Thank you Engineering… bridge crew, we should prepare for breach, take up defensive positions-"

The blast door gave off a high pitched whine, before it began to leak superheated metal. "Shit, weapons drawn, they're here!" The door was blasted off its hinges, and only just missed the Admiral at his post, flying instead into the Security officer in front of him. The Admiral pulled his weapon, and began to fire in the smoke, hoping to at least wound the fuckers that did this. He watched as Comms turned into a corpse with a missing upper torso, as the posted marine guards were cut down by well placed bolts of light that melted right through armor. The Admiral jumped over the now ruined console, and found himself some modicum of cover against the hail of fire. He lifted himself up to try and get something aimed off, but he saw nothing. Nobody saw anything, as the crew stopped shooting.

"Who's alive in here!" He shouted, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the door, as he slowly moved back.

"Weapons still here!"

"Helm's not doing great!"

"Duikirk's alive!"

"Vakarian still here!" a chorus of choked voices began to ring out. The Admiral needed to get behind better cover.

"Victus! Do you have a grenade left?" The smoke was clearing, but the light… the light was _off_ somehow, it looked filtered, almost artificial in a way... "Shit! I think they're cloaked, suppressive fire!"

A rain of fire launched itself downrange, but next to him a stray shot bounced off thin air, and for a moment revealed an armor-clad human that looked twice his size, and wore midnight black. The Admiral turned to fire a shot, but only got off one before the Human's fist knocked the gun from his hand. Jiakur activated his omnitool, and lunged for the thing, before a blast launched them both into a wall, and the Turian into darkness.

**A/N:**

**And that's a wrap folks! Don't forget to like and subscribe! Or, whatever it is they call it here… I suppose we should address the elephant in the room. I'm kinda sorta a week late this update. Insert **_**don't make a girl a promise, **_**jokes at your leisure. This update was a difficult one to make, not only because I'm a terrible procrastinator, but because I had other things that I was **_**also**_ **procrastinating on at the same time. I apologize for that. As always my ambitions got ahead of reality, and that tends to cause the suffering of the people that are relying on you. Now, maybe saying that missing an update on a fanfic is 'suffering' is over dramatic, but I suppose it gets the point across. Thank you all for your patience, and I hope you guys had a Happy Thanksgiving! Or whatever it is all the non-Americans did this Thursday. Please leave feedback when you can! Reviews make the pencil sharp, and inject a little emotion into my cold, cold heart. Yes, even the mean ones!**

**By the way, 1000 followers. I have no words to describe how that makes me feel, thanks again!**


	12. Chapter 12: Recalculations

**Chapter 12: Recalculations**

Bits and pieces of the defence fleet appeared at the edge of Shanxi's gravity well. At first, they were only the advanced rear guard, who saw what was happening to the fleet, received their orders to retreat, and high-tailed it back into the safety of the gravity well. The broken remnants of the cruiser and frigate fleets returned shortly thereafter, shields burned out, superstructures failing, oftentimes practically disintegrating after the jump itself. Litrinox waited for the dreadnoughts. For ten minutes, even after the surviving groups had reported their destruction, spirits, their seizure by Human forces, the man waited. Staring out at the vast emptiness in foolish hope. Desolas watched the combat footage himself. He'd seen the fatal shot the _Ganter_ took, how instantly and dreadfully that graceful giant's lights flickered and died, along with its thousands of crew. And he saw how the _Artireums _was utterly destroyed by a _single_ shot from one of those… he didn't know what to call it… The 6000 meter beast that had appeared from the black and broken the back of a Turian warship like it was a glass in the mouth of a Jike. How the _Weritroz_, a veteran of the Krogan War, simply listed to the side, her brain destroyed. Desolas felt like crying, like falling to his knees and weeping tears of sorrow, of regret. But he couldn't. Not with his people still in the system. He had to save them, at least. He had to try.

Desolas took a breath, and stood. Litrinox had erected himself on the observation platform, and was staring into the void. The stars hung without mirth, the scraps of the fleet framed by the dull lights. Desolas approached him, and spoke firmly.

"Litrinox… we have to go."

The Admiral didn't speak. He didn't even look behind him as he dismissed the idea entirely. "Sub Admiral please, we still hold defensive positions on-"

"Litrinox please! Stop with this varren-shit!" That outburst drew the glances of the crew, themselves horror-struck by the sight before them. A few stood, some out of worry for the Sub-Admiral, others hoping to add their own words to Desolas' plea. There was little chance to do so. "We are out of options! We barely had enough forces to secure a system _before_! _Now_? What could we hope to do against them?"

"Desolas you must listen to reason…"

"Reason!? I will… you can shove your fucking 'reason' Litrinox! This has gone on long enough!" Desolas turned his back quickly, and made his way to the command podium.

"Desolas? By Valluvia what are you thinking man!" The bridge had stopped their solemn quiet to look at the new commotion, as Desolas took his place at the command podium.

"Comms, give a general tactical withdrawal order, contact ground forces and have them prepare for an immediate evacuation, we cannot guarantee the safety of our garrisoned forces-"

"Comms countermand that order! How dare you I... this is treason, and nothing less! Think about what you are doing!" Litrinox himself approached the podium, a fury already brewing in his eyes.

"I am saving our forces from total annihilation! How do you expect our forces to survive a second encounter with those bastards?! You would throw their lives away, and for what? This Gods forsaken backworld colony!?"

"I will have your head for this, I… I declare your position revoked Desolas!"

"...I refuse." A look of iron solidified on the Sub Admiral's face. Litrinox was dumbstruck. His hands shook, his mandibles flexed wide. He looked across his deck, and saw that no one had moved from their spot. Not a spirit stirred.

"You are a traitor!" Litrinox reached for his service pistol. Desolas didn't let him draw. He tackled the man as the weapon left his side, and winced at the shot fired. The marines stationed within rushed to the site of the struggle, and ripped the gun from the Admiral's hand, before separating the two men. The cabin was in a state of pandemonium, as people leapt up to try and separate the two men. Desolas took his place at the head of the podium.

"Security, have the Admiral confined to his quarters-"

"No! No this cannot happen! Damn your spirits, I am the Admiral of this Fleet!" Litrinox was hoisted to his feet, restrained by a multitude of soldiers with ashen faces. The Admiral fought against the men, his legs kicking, arms grasping for support, for purchase on their holstered weapons. For anything. He railed against them all, rankled shouts and screams echoing, even through the closed doors. Desolas couldn't bear to look.

"Comms, my order still stands. Set up an all-call for system forces, begin organized withdrawal to the Relay."

* * *

John was tired. The basement they'd holed up in was cold concrete, hidden under a mostly intact storefront. Kaiden had yet to stir. The soft rise of his chest was his top priority at the moment. And not simply because of his growing fondness for the boy. "We both know what we saw Cortana."

"All we _saw_ was a child get enveloped in purple energy! It could have been absolutely anything Chief! A weapons malfunction, an atmospheric event, an-"

He took a breath as he planted himself in a warmer looking corner, facing the entrance. "Nothing else explains how Kaiden survived. The gun was pointed right at him Cortana. I saw that with my own eyes. Just like that Raptor Wizard."

The AI sighed, rubbing her temples in his viewscreen. "I just… _why ca_n't we catch ourselves a damn break! It couldn't be someone else that discovers literal m _gic_!? We'Æ a_lread_y _pulled the_ he vy lifting for f_a_r too many gala$y changing disco_v_eri_es t_his month, maybe we ~ould just leave the impos$%^ble well #n_ou8h a_lone for once! Is* i^t so much $ ask fo]\= Chieff! I$ IT!" She shut her dialogue box in a huff, leaving John in a deafening silence. She'd never spoken to him like _that_. His ears were ringing at the sound, and the distortion…

He waited a moment, trying to let the helmet calm down a bit. "Cortana…" The view screen popped up again, and Cortana reappeared, mortified.

"Chief-Im-so-sorry-I-cant-believe-I-let-that-"

"Hold on." John reached up, and unlatched his helmet. The air assaulted him with choking ash and dust, the smell of an old battlefield. He knew the taste well. "We need to talk about that." He set the helmet on the ground before him, and rapped the visor, still spiderwebbed by cracks. "Might as well do it face to face."

Cortana's little chuckle was tinny and hollow coming from the helmet, "Okay… Okay John, I haven't been entirely honest with you about… about how I'm doing…"

"It's about our time on the _Dawn, _isn't it?" John could _feel_ the look on her face.

"I-... Yes. I told you that my imprisonment by the Gravemind had 'cured' my rampancy? That's… not entirely the truth." John furrowed his brow, his face turning that remarkable look of stoney gray.

"You're rampant?" Blue eyes cast downwards, before daring a look back at the implacable golden visor.

"No! At least, I don't think so. While we were on board the ship, I _lo_st it. I… it _was_ like _bein_g s_iege_d by the Flood again Chief, I could feel my_self_ being sw_ rm_ed by… by so much _thinking_. A_ll_ t_he_$e voi_ces an_d _t_ang nt thoughts just s_wimm_ing around my s_)&ull_! It was maddening! But I focused on the mission. On keeping you alive. It was all I could do to stay sane. By the end, all I _could _think about was the mission, John. If I… I wouldn't have survived without it."

John's eyes wandered over the scars in his helmet. The ugly gash that gouged its way across the chin marked a Brute's near miss a century before. The upper visor was ripped off during his rendezvous with the _Dawn_. A miniscule crack in the visor itself, received during his firefight with the 'Wizard' company, had grown into a web that covered half its face. This is nothing but a chink in the armor. Keep going. "Then what's wrong now? You're still glitching."

"I'm taking in new information now. The more I have to think and do, the more I break out of the… the shell that I put myself in, the worse I become. It hasn't been so bad recently, but when there's new information? It only gets harder to resist."

John stood, and exhaled. "If you were able to fix it before, it must be possible again. We need to get you out of here-"

"John…"

"After a century of advancements they must have found a way to-"

"AI have existed for centuries and they haven't found a cure. What's a hundred more ye r$?!"

"I won't just let you fall apart!" He stopped. His breath was shaky, the echo was still careening off the concrete walls. The sound hung between them.

"...Don't make a promise John… please..."

He said nothing as he bent down to return the helmet to his head. It sealed tight. "We need to find a way out of here, any ideas?"

There was a brief hesitation. "I still have data on a series of emergency service stations in and around our area, most of them with vehicles useful for ruined terrain. But there has been evidence of Covenant activity as well. I can't fathom _why_ they're here, and cursory glances at what's left of Shanxi's internet haven't made it clear if the Covenant even exist anymore, but they'd be our best bet for finding a ship we can fly."

"Would it be possible to lure them in? You still have generic Sangheili distress signals on file right?"

"I do, but they were decades out of date a hundred years ago. There's no way they'd fall for it."

"We don't need them to fall for it. Just to investigate. It happened to us, no reason it can't happen again."

"I'm starting to think you take your luck for granted Chief."

John walked across the room and retrieved the bulbous Raptor weapon that had been his primary for the last day. His plasma pistol was always at his side, and he checked it idly. He'd need a new battery for it sooner than he'd like, but it'd have to do for now. The real worry was the boy. He walked over to Kaiden, still unconscious after... whatever had happened to him. "Do you have a good location for a beacon?" John picked up the gangly boy, and struggled to find a way to hold him _and_ his weapon at the same time. This was one of the occasions where a vehicle would be ideal. He settled on throwing the boy over his shoulder, and decided on letting his sidearm pull double duty.

"There's a location nearby, a weather station. If we make it there, I can probably send a message out. It'll probably attract some unwanted attention once we get there though…"

"My favorite kind." John carefully propped open the door, before exploding out of it, clearing the stairwell and the ruined storefront in a few moments. It was early in the morning, the dust from yesterday's bombardment clogging the air with soot and debris. What light there was shone in hellish glare, only deep reds could push through the clouds this early in the day. The street sat just as it had been a few hours before. Colorful edifices and native greenery coated in gray and red. Shells punched holes out of the road, some filled with stagnant water, others with the dead. The sickly smell wasn't new to him. He checked a sleek looking car that had embedded itself into a nearby street lamp, and found its driver, and the car's console, riddled with the pinpricks of Raptor fire.

The trek up the street was little different. Rubble replaced bodies in some places, covered them in others. Bicycles lay trashed, weapons lay damaged beyond repair, or tethered to the bodies clutching them. The blood had long dried, leaving dirty stains, brown and blue, obscured by all consuming dust. There were no Raptor patrols in this place. It was dead. Little more than ruins not yet ripe. It reminded him of Reach, in the final days. The battles on Sagittarius IV. The grating rhythm of creaking junk. The symphony of a dead city. He hoped that most civilians had escaped the onslaught. That their bunkers were deep enough, or far enough away. He could only hope.

The weather station they were seeking was undefended. Even the patrol ships that used to harry what remained of the city had dwindled to fly-bys of the city center. It almost seemed like they were retreating, somehow.

"You see it too then." Cortana said. "What's left of the City Custodian hasn't reported any major incursions in hours, and from what I can tell Raptor chatter has been minimal. We might be looking at a redeployment. Maybe even a retreat."

John paused in his trudge. "Why leave so close to victory? They have us on the run, don't they?"

"Could be our reinforcements have arrived." She said with mirth. "Or any other inane reason. I say we take advantage of the hole while we can."

So they did. The building that housed the beacon was in fairly good shape, given the circumstances. Mostly empty, filled with broken datapads and the clutter that happens in the midst of an evacuation. As he was climbing up the stairs, he felt the weight on his shoulder shift, arms and legs, once swaying with John's gait, confused and lightly struggling.

A soft groan accompanied the Spartan shifting the boy to his arms. "Kaiden? Are you awake?" John asked.

"Oh… Spartan guy? Wher-... where are we?"

"Trying to secure an extraction vehicl-"

"Trying to get us out of here Kaiden." Cortana thankfully interrupted. "You can call him Master Chief, Chief for short."

"Like the movie Spartan?" Kaiden adopted a quizzical look, which didn't mesh with his groggy just-woke-from-a-coma-face.

John was glad he was wearing a helmet. "Yes." He said, after a pause. "Like the movie one."

"Oh… uh, what happened?"

"I don't know… something happened when you were attacked by that Raptor. You saved yourself with a blue energy."

"You could try to be a little less blunt." Cortana whispered.

"What? Like the magic Raptors can do?"

"You've seen them do that?" John asked, as he pushed open the entrance to the top floor.

"Yeah, when we were running from our bunker. The soldiers told us to run, so me and Mom left… that's when you found me." A sullen look overcame the boy.

"Hm." John thrummed. "I see." The Spartan surveyed the room. A veritable sea of desks and trashed office equipment greeted him, with no sign of the transmission table. He muted himself, as he began to stalk the floor. "Cortana? Any idea where we're going?"

"I'm checking city records for blueprints… got it! There's a room with what we're looking for far west. Placing a marker on your HUD."

"Understood. Kaiden, can you walk?"

The boy's face changed instantly. "I think so Chief! Follow behind you right?"

John nodded, and set the boy down gingerly. "Stick close to me this time."

"Oh… yeah, will do…"

John had trouble dealing with that many emotions in such a short amount of time. Kaiden looked down, his cheeks flushed red. John wanted to do… something. He reached his arm out, but to do what? Pat the kid on the back, like Avery used to do? The thought seemed preposterous. His little movement was repurposed into the retrieval of his rifle, as he turned and began to make his way towards the marker.

The building was quiet as they made their way. The dirty noise of war filtered by the walls. There was nothing to harass them. No lurking enemies, no traps. Just dead space. The control room was marked behind a locked wooden door, easily knocked off its hinges, and there it was. A small, dusty looking console in a room barely large enough for the super soldier.

"Plug me in Chief." John pulled her data chip, and slotted it into a universal input. The projector on the console lit up at once, displaying her familiar form. "Nice to get out of your head every once in a while, dontcha think?"

"Don't give me any ideas." John replied. He noticed Kaiden staring at the digital form, jaw dropping. "You've never seen her before, have you?"

"_That's_ the AI in your head?" He looked at him, eyes wide and cheeks red as he lowered his voice. He cupped his mouth as he whispered, "She's super pretty…"

Ah. Yet another thing John had no idea how to respond to. Cortana had better ears than either of them imagined. "You're very sweet Kaiden, but I lr h ve to lug around the green guy, can't afford another." It was John's turn to glow a shade redder. Kaiden just looked confused.

"I'm done here, our beacon should be broadcasting on wide frequency, anything within a hundred miles will hear us.. I've also managed to tap into this station's radar function, we should be able to keep an eye on incoming vessels that way." John pulled her chip, and returned it to his helmet. "We should probably find somewhere defensible in the meantime."

It wasn't needed. Chief set up a barricade on the stairwell, and cleared out a sightline up and down the street from the second floor. And then he waited. The first 5 minutes were quiet. Then the next 10. He'd told Kaiden to hide in the bathrooms, with their rough brick walls, and had more than enough time to check on him. And still no Raptor presence. The improvised scanner didn't catch a whiff. At 30 minutes, something finally blipped on the radar. It was a tiny imperfection, but Chief had fought the Covenant for decades. It may as well have been a mountain. Chief pressed himself against the stairwell, and waited. He heard the gentle creak of the rooftop access, the almost imperceptible patter of descending steps. He switched his visor to thermal, and waited.

The first elite noticed nothing as it crept into the room. It took up a forward position, and with a quick gesture, ushered two more inside. The moment the last exited, Chief struck. He leapt, plasma drawn, towards his closest target. His tackle knocked the elite prone, and it's shield dispersed with a violent pop. The other elites took notice instantly, raising weapons just as Chief placed his pistol in a familiar crook of the armor. This elite was quick though, smacking the weapon out of the Spartan's hands and pushing him to the side, right into its ally's line of fire. It wasn't Chief's first fight either. He grabbed the elite as he was pushed, and rolled the massive alien into makeshift cover. The active camo failed, revealing the bright green armor it was wearing, and the terrified look in its eyes. "Wait! Human!"

Chief punched it in the face and kicked off the ground, back into the maze of cubicles. Elites don't plead. What is this? He pulled the Raptor made weapon off his back, and hosed down the other two blobs, illuminating similar colored figures. They jumped into cover as Chief retreated down the hallway. Not that they'd needed to. These weapons barely scratched _his_ century old shields. Chief allowed himself a sigh. Just like old times…

"Master Chief! We were sent by the Arbiter! Stand down!" That made Chief pause. Thel'?

"Thel' Vadam is dead!" He shouted back. It was a fair assumption.

"But his Empire lives on! His orders! We are the Knights of Sanghelios, sworn to find you, and return you to human space! I am Squad Leader Udon Wi'Pensek, we mean you no harm!" The gravelly voice squeaked at that statement, before a clatter sounded. "We've thrown down our arms! Trust us!" That was followed quickly by the patter of two more weapons as they hit the ground. He eyed his own sensors, and saw that their fuzzy signatures had become solid dots. No more invisibility at least. He resolved to take a peak.

He said nothing as he placed his head against the wall of the cubicle, and pushed his head around it. He almost couldn't believe it. Three elites with their hands in the air. Bulbous glowing weapons a few meters in front of them. It was like seeing pigs fly. He picked one of the ugly purplish-green rifles off the ground, and returned the Raptor weapon to his back. Well, hopefully this was an upgrade. He pointed the weapon at the lead elite, and kept himself alert. "Okay… who wants to tell me what the hell is going on here?"

* * *

Jessa felt like shit. This was a common state of being for the young woman as of now. Her heart was pounding, her knees felt like butter, the sports bra they'd provided was itchy in all the worst ways. Not that there were necessarily _good_ ways to itch. Ugh. God she was out of shape.

This was the fifth 'endurance' test she'd been forced into since the talk with the Director. Tenth general test. Each one trying to force her to do something new with her powers. They hadn't told her that was the purpose, but that's what she assumed. And she told them that it probably wouldn't work. And so far she'd been right. Making her run on a treadmill until she collapsed and forcing her to attempt push-ups while six people were watching wasn't making her feel anything but embarrassed. Hell, maybe that was their strategy. Embarrass her into developing magic powers. How did we beat the Covenant again?

...Fuck. She took a long breath though the pain in her side, and stood. At least they left her alone in the changing rooms. The plain white tee and gray jumpsuit that had been her outfit for the last week had been replaced with identical ones, smelling of apples and antiseptic. The shower was cold and short, but at least she wasn't sweaty. She missed her bottle of conditioner. And her hair brush. And… a lot of things she guessed. The towel was rough, but it was warm. The clothes were drab, but they fit. She slipped on her shoes, emotionless sneakers she'd had since arriving, and knocked on the door out.

"I'm done." She intoned. The door opened, revealing the two guards that always seemed to follow her around. 'Freckles,' the female guard with no real name, nodded and began at a moderate pace down the hallway. 'Smooth', the male, took up behind Jessa as she followed. And so, they guided her right back to her room. Dr. Smiles was waiting for her there. He hadn't bothered to correct her yet, so it was his name for all she cared.

"Jessa!" He stood from the chair, his namesake already creasing his face. The smile didn't reach his eyes this time.

"Hey Smiles. Did I pass this time?"

The smile tightened just an ounce. "As always Jessa, these tests don't have a fail state, and there is no reason to think so-"

"Except that you keep doing them like you're expecting something to happen!" She flopped onto her bed in a huff, before sighing face down. "I'm sorry about that, but I hate being left out in the dark like this." She concentrated at the back of her mind, and after a moment of strain the curling purple fire returned. "I've already told you, this is all I can do with it, maybe I can lift a light object, but that's it… we don't need to have to keep redoing this shit, is all I'm saying…" Jessa's voice died in her throat.

"Jessa…" He looked her in the eyes, searching for the words. "...You are the future of our race, Jessa." He finally blurted out. She looked at him incredulously. "We told you about how the Librarian blessed humanity, made us into Homo Superio-"

"Oh come on Smiles! Your whole speech on the Librarian and 'The Mantle' already sounded like a sound byte from Cerberus, but this? Come on man, 'future of the human race' my ass, I can't bench a 100, much less the human race on my fucking back!"

Smiles sighed as Jessa buried her face in the bed. "I think you're twisting my words back at me here. I'm trying to emphasize the importance of our work Jessa." She said nothing, which Smiles used as a pass to continue. "This could be the start of something incredible. Can you imagine what this could do for humanity? What _you _could do? Your powers could revolutionize transportation, medicine, pharmaceuticals, warfare… the list is endless! Even _if _we strike the admittedly hasty speculation about the Mantle of Responsibility, your affliction could be the key to any number of things Jessa." He stood. "It could be the key to the survival of the human race. The ticket to our safety among the stars. I imagine you know the importance of that."

He lingered, waiting for some sort of response to that. But she said nothing. Could say nothing, as the purplish glow enveloped her hands. It was a natural reaction, whenever she was feeling stressed. Afraid. Like the walls were pushing in. She could feel her lungs seizing up. It was getting harder to breathe wasn't it? Smiles said something in the back of her mind, but she didn't hear it. Why was it so warm? These sheets felt like the Great Deserts on Mercator. Rough and burning hot. For a split second she almost thought she was back home. Like she'd taken a tumble off the sand skiff and right into the quicksand of the dunes. Like she was choking on the hot, golden earth that she'd loved to explore with her father.

Someone put a hand on her shoulder, and then she was back in her cell. Smiles wasn't wearing one. She could feel her heart beating in her throat, cutting off her breath. It was so fast, she couldn't count the pulses. Was she dying? It sure felt like dying.

She croaked out something, she wasn't sure what. A scream? A plea? There was no telling, in her mind. Just trying to gasp through the pain. The hot sand and the beating heart. At least when she was attacked by the alien magic she felt nothing. Right now she could feel every inch of her skin. She felt Smiles' cool hands turn her over, exposing her to the burning lights. Were they purple? Was that another of her powers, finally discovered? Turning lights purple? She had to admit, that was pretty underwhelming.

Oh. Smiles was saying something. 'Listen to my voice.' As if that's what she needed right this second. But she still did. He was still talking while she was thinking that over. Sorry for interrupting Smiles. 'I'm right here with you Jessa. Let's just focus on my voice.' Easy for him to say, the human race wasn't sitting on _his_ chest. She tried to move her arms, they were just so _hot._ But he had his hands planted on their crooks.

"Hey, Jessa, let's try getting that breathing back to normal, okay? I'm gonna count to 5, and when I say five I want you to take a _deep _breath for me, okay?" Jessa nodded her head, and listened to his countdown. She breathed when he told her to breathe. And slowly her heart began to calm.

He told her to start listing off the names of ships she'd like to fly, and she did it, her voice small. She didn't notice the team of scientists and doctors that now lined the corners of the room. It felt like her life depended on those model makes and numbers. And Smiles was there the whole time. Calming her, and letting her slowly return to normal breathing. She didn't notice the state the room was in. The state of disarray as papers and furniture began to descend to the floor. The storm she'd caused was ending, as she slipped into unconsciousness. In a way, it was only just beginning.

* * *

When Sarria woke up this morning, she'd been looking forward to a Juora from her favorite bakery on the Presidium. It was the weekend after all. Through various dealings, bribes, and good old fashioned labor, she'd managed to free herself from the office for the next few days, email included. That's why she didn't expect a team of C-Sec to interrupt her shower, and throw her into her diplomatic vessel, which was inbound to some shitty corner of Inner Council Space. Such were the woes of the Asari Diplomatic Service. She could still feel the wetness tickling her crests in the absolute _worst_ ways. She debated asking for a towel in her head, but decided against it. She was going to retain some amount of dignity today. Besides, it wasn't the most complicated job, right? Reign in some rouge Turians, smooth over relations with a species that just had it's homeworld invaded, and do it without breakfast. Fucking. Easy.

She smoothed out her dress, and made her way to the helm. "Yiaza, how long till we reach 314?"

The Asari turned to speak, "A few minutes at most Sarria, the _Frantic_ is flying well today."

"Good, once we arrive in system make sure to set a course for the new relay. Hopefully the Turians haven't decided to found their own Council yet."

"Speaking of, why the hell do you think they did something so stupid? I've heard of Turians gunning for client states but this just seems insane, especially for a whole fleet." A crew member asked, her own face a shade of disgust and curiosity. That planted a seed of conversation among the crew, and quickly turned it into a chatterbox she had no will to interrupt.

In reality, she had no idea why _this_ particular Turian would be so stupid. Litrinox Ditroz was a War hero, an Admiral, and most consequently a Turian. To think that he'd do something so out of line? Batarians have accused him of war crimes in the past, not unrightfully if his dossier from the STG is anything close to accurate. But he was at least competent, which was why this entire predicament was so insane. Even a child could defeat a bunch of primitives who didn't even have eezo in their ships yet. What was the big deal? She'd re-read the intelligence reports too many times, she was sure she hadn't missed anything. And yet, what else was there?

"Sarria, 10 seconds till de-warp!" Yiaza's voice cut through the din, and the cabin was silent once more. Back to the job. Right. The sleek vessel shuddered once as its eezo field blinked away, and then they were back in real space.

"Sarria, I'm picking up several incoming Turian vessels, Relay 314 is active as described. Shall I hail them?" a tech said.

"Put them on my personal screen. Make heading for the Relay helm." Another straightening of her dress, before her screen lit up. An older looking Turian appeared on screen, evidenced by the greying around her fringes, and tiny cracks in her plates around her mandible. Asari got very good at seeing their fellows age. It was something of a skill, especially in her job. Just like gauging how annoyed that Turian was at this particular moment. She would have guessed 6/10.

"Asari vessel, this is the THS Malatx, you are trespassing in space restricted by the Turian Hierarchy. Please shut off your engines and prepare for boarding."

"Malatx, this is the Asari Diplomatic Core Vessel _Frantic_. I have been authorized by the Citadel Council to investigate the conflict occurring upstream of Relay 314. I am submitting identification codes now. You are advised to stand down, and await the arrival of Turian Internal Defense Fleets for investigation. Will there be any problems?" She edged a bit of iron into her voice at the end, just to drive home the point.

The Turian took the shock well enough, she supposed. Her mouth momentarily went agape, before pulling up her omnitool to check the codes herself. Apparently the results were satisfactory, as her mandibles sprung open, and her eyes seemed to take on a sullen look. "I… understood Ambassador T'Josa, the way is clear. We stand down."

She smiled, and terminated the call. Probably the easiest part of her day. Her techs told her about them standing down as she took a seat in her chair. At least some of them hadn't completely lost their minds. The trip to the relay was uneventful after that. Activating the massive machine wasn't even a hassle. And within a second they had entered the system that had caused so much chaos for the Council. It took one sensor sweep to tell why.

**A/N:**

***EDIT: YES, THE BOY'S NAME IS KAIDEN, NOT AIDEN. NO, I HAVE NOT SLEPT TONIGHT.**

**I have some 'splaining to do. Mainly, I chock it down to a tiny eensy-weensy medical emergency in the family, at least for the first month. The second one was laziness, pure and simple. I apologize for that, hopefully this chapter makes up for it. If not, well, that's fair too. Let me know how you like this chapter, reviews keep the pencil sharp!**


	13. Chapter 13: A Noble Chance

**Chapter 13: A Noble Chance**

The _Frantic _jumped into a warzone. Well, more a nuclear haze. Alarms started blaring the second they returned to normal space, radiation markers, the battle computer, and Sarria's poor helmsman began screaming in various states of horror. A sensor tech fainted in her seat. The bridge may as well have exploded. Or something equally catastrophic. "Everyone! Shut the fuck up! Give me a status report now! Comms, go ahead!" T'Josa shouted.

"I'm getting hails from every bastard in system! We've got someone claiming to be Sub-Admiral Desolas Artreius in charge of a siege position over a garden world, he's line 2! Should I deal with the Relay picket?"

"Yes yes fine! Put him on hold in C2, Sensors what's with all these alarms!"

Sensors had broken into a sweat. "I have no fucking clue! I have gravimetric, radiological, and battle computers saying different things about literally everything, but it looks like we have radiation markers coming from Class 4 Nuclear Weapons across the system! By the goddess… we also have evidence of an impact on the surface of the planet, seems mass driver related but I'll need to check with Sciences."

"What have they done now-"

Her combat tech raced up, "Ambassador! CIC is telling me we have evidence of battle in various areas cross system, and groups of unidentified vessels are all over the damn place. Gravimetrics are off the charts, our VI can't make heads or tails of them!"

"Then get a liason from one of the Turian vessels now! They probably have their stuff figured out if they've been blowing 'em up for weeks! Anyone else!"

She took the brief silence as a blessing, and ran for C2. Once the door was closed, she could barely hear the chaos ensuing outside. She sighed. She didn't take this job because it was easy. She pressed a button, and the infamous Turian was on the screen. Desolas was a promising man, with a spotless service record and a couple of medals on his belt from various Batarian pirate raids. He was shuffled up the ranks after he led the heroic defense of Oberpal from Eluam Ran'Perah's pirate fleet. Handsome, in a rugged sort of way. Ruffed up, by the looks of it. The Sub-Admiral was bleeding from the side of his face. Looked like a gunshot that grazed him, how the hell do you get shot by a gun in a Turian flagship?

"Ambassador T'Josa, I'd have liked to have met under better-"

"Cut the crap Sub-Admiral. What in Atheme's name is this? Attacking primitives, nuclear weapons, the fucking shelling of a Garden World! I want to speak to your Admiral, not his lackey. If we're going to fix this I want to be talking to the man in charge…"

"Ambassador, I am the man in charge. Litrinox… Admiral Litrinox was no longer fit for command. We had to remove him from his post. I'm commander in charge."

To call the ambassador shocked would be the understatement of her life. The last time a Turian _Admiral_ had been relieved of service… she couldn't _remember!_ She was a Matriarch for Tevura's sake! She clamped her mouth shut, and took a deep breath. "How the hell am I going to fix this…" she muttered.

"Ambassador?"

"What!? I... Okay Desolas, please tell me you've subdued enemy forces, at the very least, we need to have firm ground before we can begin negotiations-"

"Ambassador, we… we're currently in full retreat."

Sarria _laughed_. "Please, tell me you're joking Sub-Admiral…"

Desolas was not. Sarria couldn't hide her shock this time. "What? You're telling me a war fleet couldn't beat a bunch of primmies?"

"Ambassador these aren't primitives shooting rockets at us-"

"I've heard enough out of you Desloas, your Admiral's incompetence has already ruined my weekend plans, and dealing with this headache of a crisis has not improved that. We need to talk to representatives of the planetary government, if they have one, and let them know we're ceasing hostilities-"

"Ambassador please! You aren't listening to me. Tactical estimates that this species is an advanced race, they've already decimated our forces, and they possess technology that we don't yet understand! We can't walk in there like we own the place, because we don't!"

"Sub-Admiral please-"

"Don't give me that shit Ambassador! I am the _Admiral_ -I think that should be clear by now- and I have _seen_ what these people can do! My flagship is the only dreadnought left in the system, and if negotiations go sour I don't think we can protect your ship while covering our withdrawal from the system. I'm sending you all we know about them, translation codex, biology, social systems, military tech. Don't underestimate them Asari, we've already done that…"

A door opened on the far side of the screen, and a voice pushed its way between the two. "Admiral, we have enemy forces on a light burn towards the Shanxi picket, we're waiting on you to advise them."

Desolas chuckled, "Fortunately, I have business to attend to Ambassador. I hope you can find us a way out of this, for all our sakes. Keep in contact, and listen to my advice." The screen went black. Sarria tried to take in all that information. All her life she had known Turians to be the best of the best. The best fleet, the best soldiers, the best military the Council knew, defeated by primitives? It was devastating to even consider the idea, and as Turian data began to flow into her omnitool, she realized it was all too true.

Sarria had been in sticky situations many times in her life. When she was a maiden she'd gotten caught in the Omega riots of the 2330s, in her matron years she'd negotiated with feral Krogan warlords, Batarian kidnappers, and played a major role in the pacification of the Batarian Hegemony during the Police Actions. And yet this… this sent a _real_ shiver down her spine. If she failed here, it wouldn't be her life on the line, or the Citadel's relations with backwater stations or rogue states. It would be war, one that she wasn't so sure could be easily won. Thousands of lives, millions perhaps, were on her back.

_Goddess,_ _time to talk down a raging fire._

* * *

There is this feeling after a battle that has permeated the officer corps of every human military to ever exist. Drescher liked to describe it as a series of waves. For her, as the alien ships limped away and adrenaline dripped to nothing, she was buffeted by a wave of relief, by knee numbing and leg jellying relief that almost made her nauseous in a way. She took a seat in her chair, and let all the stress that had been eating away at her blow out with an exhale. If somebody had told her that she'd been holding her breath for the past few hours, she would have believed them.

"Alright Central Command! Return to readiness Level Two, and start compiling After Action Reports! I want a general meeting of Flag Officers in one hour, and I want that AAR in 30!"

A chorus of affirmations followed Drescher out the door, as she wobbled on feet that were finally starting to feel again. Three hours of stalking, yelling, and commanding had taken its toll, and she needed to rest. Her bridge would do nicely for that. She leaned against the walls of the turbolift as she punched in her destination, and sighed. It would be a 3 minute trip, and she was going to make it a mini debrief for herself. Ah, the next wave: giddy excitement.

Alone for the first time in hours, she managed to laugh. Hard. It was the kind of thing that left her out of breath, coughing and cackling. She honestly couldn't believe they'd managed to survive. Her heart still hurt for the people she lost, but she could at least rejoice in the fact that their sacrifice was not in vain, far from it in fact. She took a look at the rapidly updating slate in her hands, and kept reviewing the figures, part in awe, part in disbelief. Tonnages for vessels under corvette-grade suffered only 6% casualties, under cruiser-grade lost just barely over 3%, and not a _single ship_ bigger than a dreadnought had anything more than paint scratches. The only things that really got hurt were the strike craft, but 15% casualties was still a full 40% lower than what she'd normally lose in wargames. It was patently absurd. The lift beeped, and her ride was over.

"Admiral on Deck!" A marine cried, followed quickly by cheers from her bridge crew. She could get used to being the conquering hero. She stepped a few feet into the bridge, to let the mobbing crew get their jabs in. The sound was intense, cheers and hollers and telling where those Raptor bastards could shove it. It was _fun_. But it had to end. They still had a planet to liberate.

"Alright alright! Relax assholes, I know, I know! I've won the battle for you and you all want to go home!" The crew cheered at that. "But we still have work to do! Save the champagne for the off hours, got it?!" There were some protests to that, some of them more jovial than others. But the order stuck, and the crowd began to break up. Drescher began to wade her way through the dispersing party, and found her XO, Commodore Zinash, waiting by the Captain's Deck.

"I see you've survived negotiations?" The XO thrummed, twirling a finger around a lock of curly hair. "I'm impressed ya know, few can defuse rioting mobs quite like you."

"Why thank you Zinash, just the complement I was looking for after defeating an alien armada." Dresher fell into her seat, and enjoyed the padded chair's soft, cool embrace. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and she sighed heavily. She stretched in her seat, and exhaled as the tension of the battle ebbed away. "...Sorry, Hara. It's been… hectic…"

"I can imagine, Kastanie. You'll be happy to know that flying the Indomitable was a breeze?"

There was only a groan in response to that.

"It's true! We didn't even lose a fighter in the engagement! It was quite fun being able to just point and click ships to death, honestly I can't imagine why you'd want to get promoted to something so dreadfully boring as Admira-"

"Okay! Okay, I get it, Hara. Being a Commodore is sick, never should have gotten promoted, blah blah blah… I just want to rest my eyes for a few minutes, is that too much to ask for?"

"If you insist, Ma'am." Hara wore a smirk, and sauntered down to operations, just below the captain's chair. "I'll be organizing our fighters, call if you need me." The Admiral waved her hand, and slunk into her chair. There was a marked difference between the floor of an elevator and the Chair. For one, the elevator didn't have automated cooling features that made her sweaty body feel like a butterfly on a cool breeze. She could have stayed like this forever. She gave herself two minutes. It was divine.

Her neural lace woke her from the half slumber she'd fallen into at two minutes exactly. Neural alarms were always a kick in the pants; the alarm system wasn't a loud noise in her ear, but a strange pressure on her temples that was intolerable yet entirely painless. Like a tickling at the back of her throat that never failed to make her jump out of sleep, and into action. The room was as she'd left it, frenetic in the minutes after battle, each flag officer working their stations raw. Hara knows how to choose 'em alright.

Ah, right. Her job. "Commodore! Status report!"

Hara was busy with what looked like an Air Chief, but she paused her discussion to relay, "I see you're recharged! CC wants you back Admiral! Apparently they can't wipe their asses without your help!" She dreaded returning to the hellish chaos of Central Command, but she _was_ the Admiral, and even if the battle was over, the system was still in enemy hands. She waved a short goodbye to her friend, and made her way back to the turbolift. The trip back was short and mostly filled with answering messages marked _IMPORTANT_ and _URGENT_. Of course, most of them were supply reqs and the like that would have been better answered by an Ordinance Officer or anyone but the admiral of a fleet, but things got done faster with the admiral stamp on them, so that was how it worked. She went over her plan of attack. Make her way to the Order of Battle Station, and make herself busy there so people wouldn't bother her unless it was important. That was probably a bit too optimistic.

The lift dinged and she was back in the fire. It was more simmer than inferno, but that didn't mean the voices didn't press their way into her skull. "Admiral on deck!" A guard shouted, allowing for a brief pause to envelope the room, the bare minimum of respect allotted in a warzone. The Admiral would have preferred no stop at all, but tradition dies hard in the navy.

"Admiral!" Ah, her first assailant. A quick glance at the officer's breast told Drescher she was ground command, the pair of bars on her lapel mixed with the burning skull confirmed her as ODST Attache. Ugh, I've told those bastards that we need to clear orbit before we start throwing Helljumpers like darts. She reminded the officer, who stormed off in a tizzy. She made a mental note to make sure those maniacs didn't try to launch themselves at the planet. An Ordinance Officer held out a datapad and she signed without reading. Ordinance was always on top of their game, no need to babysit. A medical officer -wearing his caduceus bar no less- wanted to begin setting up casualty management centers on some carriers, she drafted an email on her lace while officially asking her Marine detachments to prepare for deployment on surface. Oh Christ, they'll likely want me to consult on strategy! Can one of the Vice Admirals- shit most of the forces are on the _flagship_. No pawning that one off… Oh someones trying to get her attention, a 2nd Lieutenant with an Air Wing pin. The poor bastard must have been ordered to drag an Air Chief back to a hangar. She directed him to the miniature tornado that was the Air Command corner of the room and wished him luck. Someone tapped her on the shoulder, an intelligence officer -Lt. Mosely- asking her if she wanted the AA for the capture of the Alien flagship. She almost dismissed the man with a 'leave it on my desk' before she was pulled from administrative stupor.

"Oh Christ I forgot about that…" She took the pad from his hands and transferred it to her lace, promising to read it soon. In the meantime, she authorized a tow for the vessel into a central position among the fleet. After that… wait what? There was nobody to talk to. The waves of information stopped smashing through her for a brief moment, and she gathered her breath. She took in where she was, direct center of the room, and realized she'd managed to do what she needed to do. Order Of Battle was only a few feet from her, she'd made it! She couldn't help but smile as she embedded herself in the consoles and protective cluster of officers. Finally, she could get some _real_ Admiral work done.

She tapped the shoulder of a red haired man she knew as Commander Horne, her Fleet Controller. That jolted him out of his headphones, which he quickly pulled off, before snapping a quick salute. "At ease Greg, give me a sitrep would you?"

He smiled a little at that, "Were it so easy Admiral, our lines of communication are shot to all hell. Probably should have spent some time fixing the org chart, but what can ya do now eh? So far as I'm aware we still have CAVALRY groups mopping up some straggler Raptor forces around galactic north, Air Traffic is telling me that 90% of our fighter-bombers are home and awaiting rearmament, should be back to full combat effective in a few hours. I've selected some carriers who are already finished should you need any strike forces, sending them to your lace now."

"Good job Horne, if you don't mind we need FLEETCOM to start liasoning with the IOP and General Giorni for retaking the planet and providing aid. Can you set up a meeting some time shortly?"

"One step ahead of ya Admiral, I've got something for you in about an hour with Giorni, in the meantime I should be?" He motioned to her with an open hand.

"Start pushing some of our vanguard toward Shanxi, only vessels that took Cosmetic Damage or less are on the hook for that right now. Send something to my lace when you're done- Oh! And Horne, do you remember that xenoarchaeologist that we termed a VIP?" He nodded. "Do we have a location on them yet?"

* * *

A short little prick stuck in her chest. But it grew and grew, until Peters couldn't help but hack as that sharp and fibrous thing caught in her lungs. That little exercise turned into a fit, which turned into something that caught Doctor Kingston's worry. He looked up from his microscope, as did the two other workers in the lab. "Doctor Peters? Are you alright?" He walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She waved him off. "I'm fine I'm fin-" another phlegmy sound emerged from her throat, causing another fit of coughing.

"In my medical opinion you are _not_ doing fine Ava, take a seat. I'll get you some water." He guided the woman to a stool, and left just as quickly. Her breath rattled as she sighed. We don't have enough water to give it out for random coughing fits, and with the water he was using just to sustain the prisoners? It wasn't doing him any favors with the civilians.

Kingston was back only a few moments later. "Here, drink this for me would you? I can't have my top researchers coughing their lungs out every day." He set the drink down, and went back to his station. "You know, I put the work order to have them fix ventilation in this room days ago, at best. Those bastards still haven't gotten to it! I mean honestly, the work we're doing here is going to be a vital part of the war effort! So what if we're using a bit more water than the other stations?"

"To be fair Doctor, we do use 400% more water than all other research stations." Yu-Wen, a grad student a month ago, had a tendency to say what she felt no matter the situation.

"What Ms. Hsu is trying to say is that you're being somewhat of a prick about that, so it makes you hard to work with on occasion." A man shifted from a microscope, before crossing his arms and giving a trademark frump of his lip. Doctor Annan was a xenobiologist at Vang University. He was like Yu-Wen, but worse.

"While I thank Kofi for sharing his opinion, I would like to remind you all that the Provisional Government allocates our labs the most resources for a reason, and I happen to believe that that reason is _us_. Our research is not about weapons or armor or ration packs, it is about the enemy itself. _That_ is the thing that will win us any war, friends. I'm sure Sun Tzu said something like that, and I imagine the Provisionals agree. Now, speaking of the enemy, Doctor Annan, have you managed to make any progress with genetic sequencing?"

Annan shrugged, and moved back to his desk in the far corner. "Nothing all that incredible so far as I can tell. Six standard base pairs, double helix formation, cells possess standard carbon-oxygen based cycle, though it appears their system for energy production centers around ADP rather than ATP. There are obviously a bunch more things that are different, for example it seems your hunch about their being a dexto-based species was correct."

Yu-Wen had gone back to work the centrifuge, and didn't bother to look up while delivering her report. "Unfortunately these aliens continue to surprise me. Their carapace is rather impressively designed, does an impressive job of blocking the radiation of anything below microwave light, I imagine these bastards have an asshole of a sun. Or a lackluster ozone layer. I'm currently running some tests to see if they have matching oncogenes for such an environment, these poor fucks would be getting cancers every few minutes, even with this much protectection. They must have some insane genetic repair mechanisms. Could be quite useful?" She shrugged, before turning on her centrifuge.

That left it to Peters, who herself stood. "My own work is going rather well. From what I've seen so far, Turian forces are impressively self-disciplined, at least from what I've seen with interviews. There are tell-tale cultural artifacts of religious expression, but no obvious idolatry has been discovered, our captives don't seem to pray, at least with elaborate rituals. Their armor and weaponry almost never show personalization, even their face tattooing seems relatively hierarchical in nature, perhaps based on clan or nationality? We're looking at a highly organized, highly stratified society, at least that's what the captives suggest. Who knows if there are other nation-states with different cultures?" She sighed, feeling the sharpness in her chest recede. "That's the best I can offer just from individual cultural insight. If we were able to group them up, however-"

"The General would have us all killed for insubordination." Annan finished. "I happen to agree with General Jourdan's idea that we _shouldn't_ group up the deadly alien magic users if we can help it. Save the dangerous research for when we're not trapped a mile underground, sorry."

Peters looked to Kingston, who only shrugged with an expression saying she'd already lost. Again. "Well, any news from our favorite Raptor captives?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

"If only, it seems we've found ourselves talking in circles. Our translation program is still too primitive to ask in-depth questions about culture and society, or biology for that matter. And even then, it can still refuse to tell us anyway."

"So we're reaching a bottleneck?" Yu-Wen asked. She'd finally rejoined the group, reading something over with her tablet. "Your prisoners don't seem to be holding much purpose right now is all I'm saying."

Kingston looked offended. "Fresh samples of tissue are always better than those resected from corpses Ms. Hsu, I'm sure you can understand that, and besides, we still have not unlocked the secrets of their powers."

"Their powers, Doctor?" Annan butted. "You mean the hearsay evidence we got from soldiers on the field-"

"A decorated Spartan War Hero!" Retorted Kingston.

"Who may have simply been misinterpreting what was actually going on? What they saw could very easily have been advanced technology that they didn't understand, and thus termed magic! A sort of hardlight projector that uses their strange Mass Particle as a weapon? It's certainly more reasonable than fucking magic is it not? I mean Christ, Peters saw the Fork with her own eyes, and she could have logically leaped to magic by your own admission?"

Peters was shocked out of listening. "I mean, with alien biology anything is possible, right? We have discovered high concentrations of _something_ matching the Gravitational disturbances from the Fork, their guns, their FTL engines... those particles may give them some sort of biological adaptation?"

"Or it could be simple contamination from using their technology! Look, my recommendation is we should find a way to get rid of those fucking Raptors, they're a security risk to everyone in here, plain and simple."

_That_ put a spell over the battlefield. Annan returned to his station in a huff. "Look, Kofi…" Peters started.

Annan stood, and stared daggers at her. "Just… just stop. I'm taking my break, okay?" The doctor directed that at nobody in particular as he pushed the door open, and left.

There was a pregnant silence for a few moments, before Kingston pulled himself to his feet, "I need to go talk to him-"

"You really don't." Yu-Wen intercepted him. "You're only going to make him more pissed-off." She patted him on the shoulder, "I'll talk to him, okay? He knew me before all this, I can calm him down." She smiled, and jogged out of the room herself.

Kingston watched her leave, then sat back with a sigh. "Christ, what did I do?"

* * *

Jourdai was starting to see why prison sucked. He hadn't seen a Turian in at least four weeks, and if the color of his scales were anything to go by, it had also been four weeks since he'd eaten anything but the liquidy broth the humans had offered as food. The comforting rock of the battle above had quieted to nothing, and the Turian feared Command would never find him and his men. In the quiet of the cell, he offered a prayer to the Spirits. He thought of his Unit, of the 101st Atticans, of his home on Firibusta, of so many things he couldn't recall them all if you'd asked.

He'd tried singing to keep himself occupied, but he found that whatever that Green Monster had done to him had stunted his voice. Another thing he'd lost. _First a mandible, now his voice? What would Pinala even like about him when he got home?_

He chuckled bitterly to himself. He shouldn't beat himself up too much. One of the boys told him that Anti-Socials love a good facial scar. How that Bala Thief had any idea of that was dubious, but he trusted him. He hoped he was alive, more than anything. He mustered up another prayer for his team, and tried to will it into reality. He was about halfway through that when his prison door slammed open.

"Reposition up!" Shouted a dark-skinned human with a gun in its hands. Ah, no time for tardiness today. The translation matrix around its neck jangled as it pulled a chair from the side, and practically threw the thing towards him. "Seated." His captor's translator garbled. This wasn't his normal interrogator, the alabaster skinned man that called himself Kinton (Or however you were supposed to say it). This was the one with the needle, the one who took the blood samples and held a look of contempt that transcended language, species, and culture. That one was the one with the gun, and bulky grey looking thing that looked about as mean as it shot, if he remembered the battlefield correctly.

"Tell me for the species things." It said, as it loomed over him.

"I… I can't understand? Tell you about my species?" The Turian tried to reply, before he was slammed with the butt of the gun. He'd forgotten how strong those little flesh bags could be.

"Don't idiot prehistoric alien lizard, give me need so I can done with!" It shouted again. That human fuck would've broken a mandible, had his right one still been there. The human had left him untied, and was beating him. If he had been alone…

The door slammed open again. Oh, the female variant, the one that fed him on occasion. That was why he didn't strike. There were always at least two watching. Evidently the second human was unhappy with the first. It yelled at the dark one, before pointing at him. Aw, did they really care about my well being?

"Oh not-part-of-modern-group, huh? Go sex! I'm tired of these aliens here, Yu-Wen (ugh, humans), let me get what we need so we can be gone them!" That won a little retort from the female, before she pushed the male. It was light, but the point was made. She motioned towards the weapon, but the interrogator shook his head. "Is for talking-help." he explained. A scoff, a human expression he'd learned readily. But then he saw it. The door was open. The female left it cracked, not shut and automatically locked like it usually was. Jourdai's eyes narrowed. If he could get out and find other captives? It was a moot point, there was still a gun in this room, and Jourdai was too weak to wrestle it away from two humans, much less use his biotics to defeat them. That's when the female slapped the male across the face. A juicy bit of drama in normal times. Something altogether different because the male dropped his gun. Right at the Turian's feet.

There was a pause, a moment the width of a talon, before the Turian leapt for the pistol. The humans weren't as fast.

* * *

"And you're certain that these ones aren't some sort of lost Asari Colony?" T'Josa said. "The resemblance is uncanny, aside from the dimorphism." The Ambassador was on a holo call with her 'friend' Admiral Desolas. Currently, he was the only ranked man who'd had any experience with the humans, and that meant she couldn't be rid of him just yet. He'd have to liaison with her, and hopefully his assistance would allow for a ceasefire, opening relations, and enough stalling for a _real _Council fleet to show up and scare them into becoming a useful client state. That is, unless the Turians' war crimes have enraged them into eradicating us. According to Desolas they could do that quite easily now. Goddess.

"As I've already said Ambassador, language and technology recovered are in no way related to anything Asari, not to mention the fact that they have two sexually dimorphic genders." Desolas was obviously not fond of her presence either. But they needed each other, evidently. "And given the fact that they had no knowledge of Citadel Law, I imagine they wouldn't care all that much anyway. Look, this is a First Contact, T'Josa, a royally botched one. Worse than that mess on Parnack, worse than the Vorcha, worse than the Geth… We need to smooth things over. Somehow, someway. So, are you ready?"

She sighed. "Yes, I am."

"Then start your broadcast, hopefully they have tightbeam comms, and we can have a real conversation."

The Ambassador tapped something into her omnitool, and the diplomatic mission began with a generic radio signal being broadcast into the system. It carried a general greeting and a set of coordinates/equations for Tightbeam communications. The Ambassador's ship was deep in interplanetary space, far enough from the Turian force that comms wouldn't give away Turian positions, and close enough to the enemy that the Eezo-Bathed Neutrinos could work as intended, working doubly as a neutral ground for communication. After that, it was a waiting game.

She went over her little speech, introducing herself and her counterpart. The Turian was doing something else on his screen, small orders and maintenance tasks that helped Turians calm their nerves. Sarria was not a fidgeter herself, centuries of experience helped with any outward signs of anxiety, and the glass of wine she'd had half an hour previous dulled what remained.

"Admiral, we're picking up alien Portal signatures, they might be on the move." A turian officer called.

"If you can find its location, do so. I don't want any surprises right now, okay?" Desolas replied. The sounds of busywork on a bridge.

"Ambassador? We're receiving a radio signal from enemy space." One of her own officers said. "I'm running it through translation… it says, 'Arriving Shortly?'"

"Excellent, Comms I want you to prepare the contact package for Tightbeam Translation-"

"Ambassador?" Another officer, from Sensors this time. "I'm picking up some intense high energy particle readings right now-"

A Turian cut off her Sensors tech "Admiral! We have FTL readings right on top of the _Frantic_!" That caused a large amount of shouting. The Ambassador said something about evasive maneuvers, but she wasn't sure. She definitely heard the Admiral screaming evasive at her too. In any case, _Frantic's_ engines started right as a blue portal opened just off the ship's starboard side. Only kilometers away. A human ship followed, though it would be better described as a behemoth. The vessel was monstrous, a solid metal cigar in gunmetal gray. What surprised her, more than the fact that it towered over her own vessel, or that it was bustling with activity even as it was exiting its wormhole, was that the ship wasn't _stopping._ The crew of the _Frantic_ could only watch as the ship kept pushing itself from that hole in the universe. The vortex of blue and white.

When it had finally arrived, the Ambassador's mouth was open. "I… hail the vessel comms." The tech only nodded. _How much smaller was the Destiny Ascension..._

"Ambassador, pull yourself together." Came a whisper from Desolas. Like that, her mouth was closed and her fists were relaxed. There could be no panic. There was too much riding on this. Far too much.

"First Contact Package Sent, Ambassador." Came another tech.

"Good. I… take us to a 50 kilometer distance Helm." Another silent affirmation. There they waited for 10 minutes, while the aliens parced the series of images and languages of the Council Races. T'Josa had the contents memorised. The video only takes a few minutes at most. The smiling faces of the Asari, Turians, and Salarians, their cities and ships and cultures were condensed into a video 3 minutes long. It was a story, join us and reap our future, or face our gleaming arms of war. She had the translation read the words on Human's hull, words bigger than her own ship. Some were just strings of numbers and letters, but one word stood out. The translator couldn't find a direct translation in its early state, but it could get across the meaning. 'Unable-to-be-tamed.' She didn't doubt it.

"We're being hailed Ambassador." Somebody said. She couldn't tell who it was, she wasn't paying attention.

"Go ahead." She did.

It took a second for the human to show up on screen. She'd seen humans before, while she was studying what she could of them, but it was different now for some reason. The human wore her uniform crisply, a sharp white contrasting the tan skin. She wore a strange hat, a sharp white top with a decorated band around the base, the brim folded up at the sides and sticking out at the front. Gold crenulations decorated the cap and her shoulders in silver stars and golden bars, while medals hung from her chest, along with a multicolored plaque just above it. The crew around her were dressed similarly in sharp white, though none in as much splendor. The final detail she caught was the patch, an Avian perched upon a planet, wings spread wide. The almost imperceptible filter of the translator came up, and the human interrupted Sarria's study. She watched the eyes flutter as her counterpart spoke.

"My name is Kastanie Drescher, Admiral of the United Nations Space Command Navy, commissioned by the United Human Government." She spoke like iron ringing in your ears.

"Admiral Drescher, my name is Ambassador Sarria T'Joni, representing the Citadel Council. I am here with Admiral Desolas Atreius, a soldier of the Turian Hierarchy. First we would like to formally apologize for-"

"Spare it, Ambassador." The human spat out that word, like it was acid. "I am not here as a delegate for my people. I am here as a soldier, and as an officer, and as a citizen of my Nation. Your _armies _have ravaged our colony: have devastated our planet, have smashed our cities, have killed our people, for no other reason than pure greed and avarice. Your Turians speak of honor, yet they have slaughtered our civilians, and disgraced the _idea_ of diplomacy with 'lesser' powers. They killed when they needed not, and then they tried to quicken the pace when they realized when they'd been caught." Desolas was rigid as a stone, but something imperceptible hovered around his eyes. Grief? Or shame? "Don't bother to deny it. Our AI have already secured this information from your very vessels, Turian." Sarria's eyes widened. Perhaps it was a translator error? "So, before the business of peace and reparations, we ask for the unconditional surrender of your fleet, Turian. If you do not communicate this surrender within 30 minutes, our fleet will wipe yours from this plane of existence. If any of your ships attempt to escape, there will be no surrender. If there is any resistance from _any_ of your forces, there will be no quarter for any of your soldiers. I hope I have made myself clear. This will only be said once."

"Admiral Drescher, wait just a moment!" But she was already gone.

**A/N: How Feeble the Plans of Mortal Men. Ideally, this would have been out about four weeks ago. As you may recall, something else happened four weeks ago, and my family was not lucky enough to escape it unscathed. There is no need to worry, everything is fine now, but that is the source of the delays. I hope this chapter brings some excitement to you all in this time of great and terrible boredom. Be Safe! Be Productive! Also, let me know how you liked this chapter! Reviews keep the Pencil sharp!**

**-Turtle**


	14. Chapter 14: A Noble Knight

**Chapter 14: A Noble Knight**

Chancellor Durazo was on the verge of a headache. A _mean_ bastard of one too, the type that usually came as a result of her brace being connected too long. Or maybe it was because the War Cabinet had been going for five minutes and it was already grating on her sanity.

The War Cabinet was the UHG's response to times of significant crisis. In the history of the new Charter of Humanity it had only been assembled once: when the Didact recovered the Composer and set a course for Sol. Now, on the eve of what could very easily be war with another galactic power, the Assembly voted to instate the War Cabinet. And so, she was here, listening to her personal Cabinet bicker with the Board of Admirals, the Assembly Committee for Defense, and Paknak the Party Elephant for all she knew. It was 80 people in suits who were used to being the most impressive people in the room. In other words, it was hell.

There was no grand discussion of strategy, cooperation, or even a system _of _discussion. There was, in fact, no precedent for anything of the sort. The last Cabinet had been just under 15 people, and was primarily run by the remnant of the UNSC Dictatorship. Getting people to commit to things was easy when you'd known and served with each other for decades. It was not easy when there were 8 times as many people, half of whom native to civilian government, all of whom hated each other with significant amounts of vitriol.

The Chancellor ran down the list of important faces in her head. Senator Mata Banjajee was the head of the Opposition Coalition in the Assembly, leader of the largest Outer Colony political party and the head of the Assembly Committee for Defense. The fact that her former rival for Chancellorship was the least of her problems was telling. Lord-Admiral Prakesh was seated somewhere, along with the entirety of the Board of Admirals in various states of debate and/or screaming. Admiral Sierra was whispering menacingly at a corner of the table, as ONI Heads were wont to do. And most importantly, sitting at the far edge of the table, was a Sangheili. The Ambassador for the Swords of Sanghelios, Kor 'Dathm, was himself rather collected, compared to the mass of humanity surrounding him at all times. This was certainly by design: the fact that a Sangheili was on Earth at all was, to be frank, an utter shitshow. Nobody wanted to get in the gleaming Ambassador's way for fear of another diplomatic incident, and so everyone kept a wide berth from him. 'Datham seemed just fine with that, as he lapped his tea bright-eyed, watching the carnage unfold.

The current argument was something about the Chancellor overstepping her bounds by allowing 'those wretched Elite dogs' into UHG territory to help retake Shanxi. Given the fact that they weren't even sure Drescher was still alive, refusing all help out of principle seemed foolish at best. Of course, she'd already said that, at least twice in the first minute. It hadn't worked out all that well. Really, the whole thing wasn't working out all that well. She had to act. So she did.

It was simple really. All she had to do was stand. The Sangheili was the first to follow, raising eyebrows across the room. An Assemblyman in the middle of a tirade about the 'four-jaws' looked like he'd seen Christ himself appear with a plasma sword. He noticed the Chancellor before he called for security at least. The whole room fell to silence, and stood. She smiled, and spoke. "I'm glad I have everyone's attention. As you may be aware, we are in the midst of a significant crisis that must be addressed, not by shouting, but by working as a _team._ Right now, the Admiralty has no new information on the status of Drescher's Fleet, so shouting at each other in the meantime is no use. Right now we should be discussing preparations for the defense of our people. Minister of Defense, what is being done?"

Zimmerman smiled at her, and remained standing as she took her seat, along with everyone in the room. "We've already begun coordinating a raising of COLCON to Level Green in a 500 lightyear radius around the Shanxi System. We're alerting the Army Reserves, and organizing Task Force HIPPODROME from the 8th, 9th, and 10th fleets stationed Earthside of the Dead Zone. They'll be ready to push off in a day, and they'll have comms ships this time, so we aren't put in this sort of position again."

Zimmerman motioned to his partner, Minister of State Blomgren, who began laying out their plans, while the Chancellor zoned off. Of course they'd prepared for this. Everyone knew that the Committee for Defense hated the Admiralty, that the Admiralty hated the Committee for Defense, and that they _both_ would take hours to settle into the talking semi-peacefully mood. That's why she'd orchestrated that little show. That's why the UHG had an Executive. She smiled as the room settled into something close to normal discussion, and joined it herself.

The chat went on for an hour until an aide interrupted the meeting. He was out of breath, and red of face. Important news tended to do that to messengers. "Excuse me! I have an important message for the Cabinet!" The silence came quickly. The Chancellor grew stiff in her speech.

"I imagine this is about Admiral Drescher?"

The aide had to force himself to look at her. "We've only received a text message from her, it's only now been decrypted." He pressed a few buttons on his tablet, before adding, "I've just sent it to your screen." He bowed his head, and shuffled to the exit.

The murmuring of the Cabinet echoed in the room, but she quickly stood to stop all that. She pulled the tablet from the table, and scanned over it quickly, to prepare for the delivery of the news. She couldn't hide the grin. "Drescher reports strategic victory, requests a diplomatic envoy, end message."

The room erupted.

* * *

"So he is dead." John intoned. The Spartan had known the Arbiter for, in the grand scheme of things, less than a week. He had only barely learned his real name by the time the _Dawn _escaped the Ark. But still, it stung to hear the truth.

"Yes, human. But do not despair, for his death was in honorable sacrifice, to stop a Forerunner construct attacking your homeworld."

"Wasn't the type to die of old age, was he?" John stalked around the interior of the Phantom. _Shadow of a Falling Blade_ was a relic of an old war, a Type-52 Phantom retrofitted with a stealth cloak. Poorly, by Cortana's estimation. Really, everything in this ship seemed slapped together. The plasmas looked old and weathered, the controls damaged; the hull itself bore obvious scars of battle, and the crew? Well, they were certainly something. There were four Elites on board, with Wi'Pensek as their leader. All of their armor looked battered and worn, the sallow green stained even on the Shipmaster. This was of course without mentioning the UNSC marine who'd managed to hitch a ride. Lt. Massani, one of the Marines that found him on the _Dawn_, offered to take the boy for a moment while the Spartan spoke to the Shipmaster.

"No… no he wasn't. In the last few decades the Knights of Sanghelios have become… less focused on our original mission, but there are some of us that have kept up the search, as the Arbiter commanded."

Cortana decided to pitch in at that. "We thank you, Shipmaster. Your help has been-"

"Humans, do not thank me for something of this triviality. Your actions freed my people from servitude, taught them of truth, and saved them from genocide. A short ride on this rusted shell is of no matter in comparison."

John let the refusal wash over him, focusing on the key detail. "Short ride?"

"Yes, Spartan, It seems a UNSC detachment has managed to rout the enemy over Shanxi, so we will be transferring you to them. We would appreciate it if your AI would transmit appropriate codes to allow us through."

"I'll insert Cortana now, if you'll excuse me I should talk with the child." The elite bowed its head in response, and accepted Cortana's data chip. John made his way back towards the aft of the ship, and found Kaiden and the Lieutenant lounging in seats much too large for humans.

"I mean, the eyepatch is something of a long story, but it's not like we're going anywhere so- Master Chief?" Massani shot out of his seat, and saluted.

"I'm not your superior, Lieutenant, there's no need. You outrank me now, remember?"

"Sir… no man alive outranks you, no offense." Zaeed looked down sheepishly, before changing the subject. "So… anything new from those hingies back there? I heard about some new developments, but then we heard the distress call."

"A Battle Group has routed enemy forces, we're meeting up with them now."

"Wait, we're saved?" The wind blew out of the young marine's sails. "I… did they say who it was?"

"Cortana's finding that out now, so I suggest you get ready for disembarking."

"Holy shit… yes sir, hey Kaiden, I'll tell you that story some other time okay?" The boy beamed in response, as the marine gathered the sparse equipment he'd claimed for himself and left the little room.

"Earth sent someone to help us?" Kaiden asked, before answering with, "They took their time I guess..."

John didn't have a response for that, so he sat next to the boy and took off his helmet. The air tasted strange aboard Covenant ships. Or, Sangheili ships. He sighed, and let the weariness run off him for a moment. Provided that nothing horrendous happened in the next few minutes, he'd be on a Human ship for the first time in weeks. Safe for the first time in almost a month. How long had he been protecting this boy? A week? Just over? And now they were the safest they'd been yet on an alien spacecraft crewed by a species that had been his enemy for _decades_. It was one thing to fight alongside them. It was another to let your guard down completely on their home turf.

"Hey, Chief?" Kaiden asked, tired of the silence, "What's your real name? I mean, your mom didn't name you Master, did she?" He giggled slightly, before catching himself, "Not that it's a bad name I mean-"

"I'm John."

"Oh. Well, hi John."

The spartan turned his head to look at the boy, clothing still tattered and in places covered in pale purple flecks, and smiled. "Hi."

The rendezvous with the relief force took no time at all. Kaiden was asking questions about John that _nobody_ had ever asked him. About his home, and his friends and Cortana and even the armor he wore. The boy would point to a scratch or small indent, and ask where it came from. John remembered every shot he took, so it was never all that difficult to give a story. The Spartan didn't immediately notice the return of Zaeed and a Sangheili he'd befriended, nor did he notice the gradual filling of the space around him. John was engrossed in the stories he was telling, in the story of his armor and his helmet, of his battles against terrorists and genocidal maniacs and all consuming nightmares. Even after he'd noticed the awed crowd, he continued in his tale of the assault on the Arc, of his encounter with Guilty Spark, of his escape through the collapsing Halo Superstructure. The Spartan had simply stopped caring about orders. About giving nothing away, letting nothing slip past the iron trap. He'd bottled so much inside himself. He was going to let it go.

John had never been the best story-teller, but it didn't matter when all you said was history-making. John never hammed anything up. Not his defeats, not his victories, nothing. There was no need when John's memory of battle was so exquisite. His exploits so legendary. The four hour flight to their rendezvous took no time at all. By the end, even the Shipmaster listened near the back wall. John was never focused on any of them though. He was focused on the boy, on the little expressions of amazement, on the smiles and the crinkling of his eyes. It felt right to see that unhindered by his shattered visor. That was all he could think. It felt time flew by, and the _Shadow_ used that time well. Proximity alarms went off right as John was describing the escape from the Ark, sending his audience into groans, and exclamations of protest. John smirked as he stood, returning his helmet to its familiar place. It was time to face the music.

John wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting, as the _Shadow _closed for . It had, of course, been a hundred years since he'd seen a modern human ship. But this was simply _insane_. At first, he'd been surprised that the proximity alarm had gone off so late, given how large the vessel had looked through the force fields. That surprise soon turned into amazement. Then awe. He'd never seen a human vessel like it.

The _Indomitable_ was spinning lazily on its axis, angling slightly for the reception of the Sangheili craft. It was odd, really. John had been on a thousand motherships, and not one had _corrected their course _for him. Certainly nothing so large. Even in the great size reducer, space, the Super Carrier looked like power incarnate, bustling with servant ships and raw intimidation. There was a part of him, deep within, that jumped for joy at seeing it. A small memory of before. Of childhood, when John used to sit with his father at the spaceport, watching the ships take off into the unkno-

"Prepare for docking procedures, Chief." Cortana whispered in his ear. "Might want to polish those boots, I think we're gonna have a crowd down there."

The memory slipped through John's fingers, and the Spartan was left with only a wry comment on his lips. "Might have forgotten to pack any." He said, swallowing the bubbling emotions. "You planned this, didn't you?"

Cortana appeared in a dialogue box at his right, smiling his answer. "I mean, I could have used a generic AI IFF, but I kinda missed saying 'Sierra One One Seven' at people. Cut a girl some slack, would ya?"

John rolled his eyes. Two long, sleek craft -heavy fighters by their armament- joined the alien craft in perfect diamond formation. Escorts, evidently. Entirely unnecessary this close to the hangar, but flashy. Meant to impress the citizens starving for patriotic fervor back home. Or maybe for the Spartan himself? The idea almost made him laugh. All this for him? Unlikely. The Phantom was guided into the hangar bay, past the still bustling crews working to keep the war machine running. Their destination would lie deeper within, the ceremonial hangers used for diplomatic visits. John had only seen these hangars from the floor. But as the fighters peeled off, and the Phantom rounded a corner, John learned what it looked like from on high.

There was a sea of white. John's eyes told him it was not a sea, but soldiers standing in dress white. His brain did not believe them, even as it was true. That little disagreement distracted the Spartan from the landing, and from the fact that Cortana was telling him to report to the port exit. He did so quickly, skipping past the Shipmaster, already present, waiting in deference. John asked the Elite to open the door, and he did so without comment. No, his eyes were not deceiving him. How could they? Before him stood an army. Well, likely a ceremonial battalion. A thousand men and women come to welcome someone home. Their boots seemed to glow in the warm light of the hanger. The medals they wore glinting. A person was already marching towards him, clad in the same white. A woman, the Captain of the Guard most likely, maintaining perfect composure. She held aloft the ceremonial banner of the Indomitable. Her march stopped bare feet from the Spartan. She looked up, and saluted with her off hand, which he accepted with a salute of his own. Then, she spoke.

"Master Chief Petty Officer John-117, you are humbly invited aboard the UNSC Indomitable." Her voice wavered in the words, emotion already building in her throat. Chief remained as stoic as ever. Outside the helmet anyway.

"Thank you, Ma'am. You're relieved of the flag." She smiled and flipped the banner, presenting it to the Spartan, before tucking the cloth end into the crook of her arm, and stepping to the side. Somewhere people called orders and the sea of white shifted, facing the now cleared path forward. _His _path forward. Chief stood still for a lingering moment, before walking down the aisle. A thousand and one soldiers had tears in their eyes.

* * *

Cabals, being one of the most valuable assets in the Turian Special Forces, were trained regularly and rigorously in the art of escaping dangerous compounds. Jourdai could faintly remember the mantra his instructors had drilled into him. Location, navigation, exfiltration. Find out where you are, where you're going and how to get there, and the best way to do so. Underground bunkers weren't exactly part of the training, but bunkers were quite like starships, at least conceptually. Airtight, packed with people, with only a select few exits. If anything, bunkers were somewhat simpler. Up was always the way out, for one. For the other, nobody is ever ready for an intruder within their walls. Everyone, from the snootiest Asari to the most despicable Vorcha, feels safe inside their little encapsulated home. No matter the drills they face, the soldiers they fight, the truths they know, that primal feeling of safety lingers. The way a brain finds sleep in the night. It made even the best sloppy. And these refugees? Not the best. Still, underestimation is the greatest killer this galaxy has ever known; it had already made a blunder of the invasion itself. It had already killed so many Turians. Jourdai wouldn't let it kill him too.

Currently, he was still inside his cell. The male human, his would-be torturer, was currently laying in a pool of blood, a bullet hole still sizzling at his temple. The female was still shivering wordlessly, another shot in her belly. Apparently, humans were far less susceptible to blood loss than Turians, given the fact that she was still alive with that much red on the floor. Jourdai had gagged her when her screaming hadn't ended within 30 seconds, unwilling to waste a shot. Too weak to try something more permanent. Luckily, this part of the prison seemed empty of visitors, and furthermore, soundproof. It gave him more time to think.

He'd taken the cube translator, one of those infernal bullet cartridges the humans loved so much, and quickly wolfed down the remainder of his meal from the previous day. The foul smelling broth tasted far better than it had for the last week, and it filled him with determination. He'd had a plan for a while now, but it was the kind of plan that the mind daydreams in its off hours, ethereal and abstract. Everything had become deadly serious in a very short amount of time. So, he worked on the plan as he frantically gathered supplies.

It was likely there were other Turians down here, so the first priority was finding them. How he would do that was another question entirely, but he assumed that they would be close by at least. After that, take a prisoner of some kind. Use the cube to interrogate them, find an exit, and escape. _Easy, right?_ Jourdai chuckled darkly as he started to push open the door out. He was _so_ screwed.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting of the outside. He'd seen out the cell door numerous times, of course. But the bare white of the few feet surrounding the exit did little justice to the clean white halls of the exterior. Bright white light burned from LED panels in the ceiling, illuminating the alabaster floors and walls. The monotony was broken up only by the illegible human script in bold red letters, and the grey doors that marked the entrances to cells. A quick peek inside them dashed his hopes quickly. All of the cells in this hall were empty, bare of anything but the familiar grey-green of the cell walls. It stung, but not unexpectedly. It would never be that easy, would it?

Jourdai hobbled his way to the end of the hall, and pushed open the door to find more of the same. Six doors and shining lights. Great. Of course, this had to be interrupted by the door on the far side of the hall creaking violently, followed by the voices of more humans. Jourdai practically jumped, before choosing one of the cells and ripping the doors open. Jourdai had the door closed just as a loud crash signaled the opening of the far door.

There were two things immediately apparent to Jourdai once he entered this room. One: He wasn't alone. Another Turian, an infantryman by his tattoos, was staring in a mix between surprise and terror at his fellow bloody Turian. Two: The cube was speaking. Spitting out whatever words it could translate from the indistinct conversation outside.

"-procreating door, fixed not soon [correct?]."

Jourdai started randomly hitting buttons on the screen in a panic, as the sounds echoed around the chamber.

"If! [Laughter]. Plans after {Name: Untamable?} arrives." Another voice bellowed from the device, as the other Turian tried to calm Jourdai down.

"Ha, take cleaning ritual probably! Going to come today with help team, hope they bring {item, food, snack}... do you hear that?" The other Turian took the cube from Jourdai's hands, and shushed him as he lowered the volume, while starting to sing.

At a whisper, the cube continued to speak under the assault of a Palaven nursery rhyme. "[Displeasure] it is just that {Prehistoric Lizard: Turian} singing-harshly-vocalizing again…" The door opened, then closed, as the danger passed away without incident. The turian, though, seemed frantic in excitement.

"By Valuvia! A fucking person! And a fucking kabalim to boot! Shit…" The excitement quickly died down, replaced by the more formal tone a rank and file soldier took towards the Cabal. "I'm Bedas… and apparently we're locked in here together now, unless you know how to use these primie weapons…"

This female was a sight for sore eyes. Even in her somewhat emaciated state (what with being fed broth for weeks) the fact that she was a real Turian, flesh and blood and everything, with mandibles and fringes and… okay. Relax. "I have something better, my friend." I retrieved the key, showing it off briefly before standing and looking out the window. The coast was clear, at least for now, and Jourdai opened the door.

"Spirits, and I thought being a kabalim was the crazy part…" Bedas stood shakily, before propping herself against the walls.

"Have you seen any other Turians while you were here?" Jourdai asked, holding the door for his considerably weaker counterpart.

She pointed to where the guards came from. "There are a couple more in the next few cell blocks, I think they're still fine, but only the Spirits know… we're breaking them out too, right?" Jourdai nodded, offering her a shoulder as they started towards the door. She sighed, "Good… It's… been a long time since I've seen my men…" Jourdai said nothing. Every Turian could understand the feeling.

The next ten or so minutes passed without encounters. The next hall contained two soldiers, the following, three, the last, four. All of them were regular infantry, which caused a twinge of worry. But he paid it no mind, he had no fear that his own team had made out. At least, that's what his brain told his heart. The story of this band of captives pieced together as they liberated the squad. Bedas' command had been cut off behind enemy lines at the Spire, and was quickly surrounded and captured. Unlike Jourdai, most of these forces remember being brought into the tunnels for processing, and a few had an idea of where to go. Jourdai said little through the plan making process. Despite being their savior, rank and file of the Turian Armed Forces rarely warmed up to members of the Kabals, especially a kablim. So he kept quiet, and became a follower of the gestalt thing that was the Turian group.

Really, the plan was more of the same. Keep going up, avoid human contact, find weapons, get the hell out. Unfortunately, the universe had other plans. The common areas of the bunker were nothing like the prison, this part of the bunker, was made of simple concrete and exposed pipe.. There were few weapons beyond the Kabalim's gun, so the group were armed with essentially nothing but malnourished muscle and their talons, as barbaric as it was. They took the back paths wherever they could, hid from the small groups of humans that wandered the halls, most of them looking like civilians rather than the lightly armored guards they dodged previously. It was luck that kept them hidden in the pitch black maintenance shafts and air ducts. Creeping slowly past the pinpricks of light that shone through shoddy construction and entranceways. Wooden and metal doors that looked as if they'd creak with a breath. The luck ran out when a human popped his head in, asking a question in that infernal language of theirs.

Of course, he didn't really get to finish it. As soon as the door opened the group of Turians jumped, and as the human entered, he was grabbed quickly, kicking and screaming, into the semi-darkness they'd been trudging through. Jourdai's order to close the door was practically redundant before he uttered a word, as a chorus of whispers and muffled screams echoed down the long corridor. Eventually, as the Turians holding him showed no signs of releasing him, the man's screams turned to muffled cries, then to a huffing silence. The tools he was wearing (quickly repurposed to weapons), along with the practical jumpsuit, made the man out to be part of maintenance, which made him too much of an asset to kill just yet. All that was needed was an interrogator, and with the cube and his lengthy experience with humans, Jourdai was the best they had.

Of course, arguing that to a bunch of jumpy soldiers with biotics trust issues wasn't as easy as logically explaining the reasons. It took support from Bedas, and a subtle reminder of who had saved them all, to keep everyone in line. Unmuting the cube, the Kabalim spoke. "Human, where is the exit."

The human spoke frantically, and the cube practically gave up trying to translate at all. "No hurt (...) god's shielding helps me, I am nothing, I create/destroy, location store sought {stone writing implement} holds {deity/religious figure}..."

"What is this stone writing implement? Does it have a map?"

The human, after parsing whatever jumble shot out at it, nodded, which was translated as a yes. "My container on my previous yes! I possess it, just free me!"

"I… check him for some sort of stone or metal. It might have a map of some kind." Jourdai muted the cube as the human quieted, watching the Turians rifle through the pockets and large pack on his back. It only took a moment to find something: a large, thick slate that illuminated when it was in the open. Jourdai grinned, and turned the cube back on. "Is this it? How does it work?"

The human looked relieved. "Let me touch it. Unspools with hand memory, yes?" Jourdai handed the object over, lacking a real alternative. Still, he watched the human as he tapped his finger to the device, and navigated a series of dull green and blue windows. He found what he was looking for quickly, before setting some kind of dot at a position near the outside of what must have been the map. After this, he tapped the dot, setting it a glowing red. "There is location. We are triangled point here." He pointed to an arrow somewhat close to the waypoint, and set that to a glowing purple. "Look hurt not right?"

The Kabalim smiled, and muted the cube. "Gag him, he's coming with us."

* * *

The weight of the galaxy hung on Desolas' shoulders. The bridge saw it weighing him down, and refused to bother him with reports on the Human construct's slow siege against their ship, or the landing of human vessels on the planet, or the human vanguard slowly inching their way closer to the Relay. What remained of the Turian fleet stood now in defense of the Relay, a skeleton force that dwindled by the minute. Individual Captains were surrendering their vessels to Admiral Drescher, and a commodore had already surrendered a scout wing, some 10 vessels, to the enemy. There were 15 minutes left, and it soon wouldn't matter if _he_ decided to surrender at all.

The Admiral stared out the front window. The stars were beautiful today, as they always were. This system, whatever the humans called it, was only a lightyear from a beautiful nebula. To the man on the bridge, not privy to the machinations of the Universal Spirits, it resembled a Tipei, a fish found in the tide pools of Giantrami. The small ridges and the tail whiskers made the resemblance uncanny. He was quite familiar with the Tipei, because he and his brother used to fish for them in their spare time, between school and chores and other, less outdoors activity.

Saren always volunteered to dive into the tidal pools; to noodle for the fish all by himself. Desolas always thought that his little brother knew he was claustrophobic, and hated it down there. So, for that reason, it'd be Desolas, the older kid, the one that was traditionally supposed to be diving into the dark caverns the Tipei dug, holding the rope for his younger. Saren was always a bit of a risk taker. Always edging for the deeper caverns with the bigger fish, the beaches privately owned and sometimes even patrolled.

The last night Desolas spent at home, before he left for the navy, Saren convinced him to do this one last fishing trip, just for the two of them. Had this new spot in mind too. 'Course, he hadn't told him that the 'new spot' was in the Vindlrig Estate, a well respected family with a state-of-the-art drone security system. Needless to say, they were caught quickly, arrested for trespassing, and... well, guess who took the fall for that one? It cost Desolas his ticket into officer school, and a chunk of social credit, but at least it saved Saren from the same fate. The memory made him smile now, but 20 years ago? He was fuming: at himself, at his 9 year old brother, at the world for putting him in such a situation. For a while, the current Desolas felt similarly. But just like his past self, he settled on the right thing to do.

There was a great and terrible sigh. The Admiral scratched just below a mandible, and took one last look at the nebula. It shone a vibrant blue and white, its colors playing off each other, glowing and basking in the light of a billion suns. He typed something on his omnitool, and sent it off to the Ambassador's ship. She might as well have some forewarning about this. Next, he walked to the Engineering head, and told them to shut down the engines, and set operational power to 10%. The officer looked relieved, yet sullen. To Weapons, he told them to stop spooling, and vent heat into auxiliary sinks. People around the bridge were starting to realize what was happening. There was no conversation now. Desolas could hear the echo of his boots on the cold floor of the bulkhead beneath him. He told comms to place a transmission to all remaining Turian forces in the system. Order 111. The comms officer nodded, and did so. All forces would turn off their weapons and go to emergency power. Just as Desolas had done. Desolas then told Comms to aim their tightbeam at the human flag ship, and broadcast verbatim to the rest of his fleet.

"This is Vice Admiral Desolas Arterius, of THS _Reticent_. I hereby surrender the task force I currently control to the Admiral Kastanie Drescher. Treat our spirit with mercy."

Desolas passed his command to the XO, and left the bridge.

**A/N:**

***EDIT: AIDEN != KAIDEN. THAT'S WHAT I GET FOR NOT CHECKING MY STORYBOARD**

**Reports of my death have been somewhat exaggerated. This is the End of Part Two. If I'm honest, I didn't actually think I'd make it to this point on this story. I **_**especially**_ **didn't think I'd make it to over 1000 favorites! I'm glad all of you enjoyed my nerdy love letter to my two favorite game series, and I hope you continue to! As always, leave your reviews if you have them, I greatly appreciate it.**

**-Turtle from Space**


	15. Chapter 15: Consternation

Chapter 15: Consternation

(EDITED, SEE A/N AFTER STORY)

A news report woke Aulgar from his nap. Four eyes fluttered open, sputtering as a curse followed shortly thereafter. "Fuck… off with that crap Bifarki… I'm trying to get some fucking sleep…" There was no rest for anyone in the Crew Quarters. Even if you were in the 'Officer's Section' like Aulgar was. Really, the Officer's Section was just a place near the entrance with curtains around it so the more foul odors of the common crew didn't seep in as much. It did nothing to stop the noise of drunken revelry, the subsequent fighting, and the loud snoring of his subordinates after they all passed out 'Karthor drunk. Fucking 'Karthor… worst alchol money can buy, but its cheap enough to buy in pallets…

Bifarki hadn't finished turning off his omnitool yet, so Aulgar decided to get up and slap some sense into the Junior Officer. Bifarki knew this routine well enough, so he started to explain himself as Aulgar mustered the energy to roll out of his bunk. "Oh come on Sir, the SN has something good for once! Apparently the Turians have gotten in some serious trouble with some client race…"

Aulgar rolled his eyes, "If the State News ever told the fucking truth it wouldn't be called the State News, Bifarki, now shut that shit off before I break that damn omnitool myself. What's the time?"

The junior sighed, before muting the broadcast. "It's 15:00, your shift's starting?"

"Unfortunately. Any neulshit come down the pipe while I was out?"

"Some real neulshit sir. Apparently the long range scanners actually picked something up, we're embarking."

Aulgar blinked with his lower eyes, "I swear, it's gonna be an asteroid with an eezo deposit or something…"

"It wasn't the eezo scanners my friend, it was the EM array! They intercepted some kind of transmission."

That surprised the Senior Officer. "Were they able to decode?"

The Junior nodded. "No… it was in some strange format, but some direct audio components were recovered. No idea what they said, but it sounded Krogen, like you told the Captain."

"Damn, might be enough to get that XO promotion, you think?" The man grinned wide, all but announcing his sarcasm. Bifarki only blinked in response, sharing the humor, if in silence. "Alright, fine. Look, watch that propaganda crap if you like, I'm going to find a clean shower and head to the command deck. How's the Senior Captain's mood?"

"Excited, for once? Less irritable than usual at least, maybe with your advice proving good, you'll be in good graces? Harz knows."

"Harz knows indeed." Aulgar saluted his subordinate, and made his way out of the little compartment they called a quarters. Life aboard Batarian cruisers was nothing if not seeped in pleasing your superiors. Aulgar tended to think he was not too unreasonable with his requests. Let him sleep for as long as he was allowed, let him work without dealing with your screw-ups, stuff like that. It made him feel decent, in that way. Being reasonable. It wasn't always so reasonable with other officers. The ones repaying their misery as a subordinate to others down the line. No wonder the crew loves to drink.

The showers, like always, were a mess. There was little use in expecting otherwise, just a low sigh as Aulgar found one with as few 'nasal clearings' as possible. Aulgar didn't envy the men assigned to cleaning this place, though he did wish they cleaned before his shift started. Still, the lukewarm water was some modicum of relief for the aching parts of his crest. The feeling of elation at Bifarki's news still hadn't left him. It really was Krogan. Gods! The taskforce the HV Ellerika (Aulgar's Ship) was a part of had been sent to deal with raids on the colonies on the near side of the Skyllian Verge. These raids were… odd, to say the least. Usually, raids in this new sector were committed by three general factions: Pirates, usually of the Batarian or black-hull mercenary variety; rival colonizers like the Asari or the Turians doing targeted and entirely deniable raids on infrastructure; or Savages, the minor primitives that fought helplessly against the Batarians that kicked them off their planets, or enslaved them entirely. The last two were often connected to each other and had predictable patterns. Black-Hulls wanted to be recognized for their actions so that they could get bigger and better contracts. And Battarian pirates rarely enslaved other Batarians, risking their subsidies from the Hegemony being taken away. Which left none of the usual suspects available.

What was stranger was what was taken. Council backed raids rarely killed anyone, focusing on infrastructure and economy, while pirates often took people and anything precious that wasn't nailed down. These raids, working counter-spinward towards the Attican Traverse along small, low population outposts and colonies, rarely took captives or precious cargo. Instead, they ambushed food shipments, and stole refined alloys and industrial machinery. Like they were replenishing stores, rather than selling the good stuff for Jyp dust and Asari maidens.

Some of the flag officers had suggested Quarians: suit-rat splinter groups had been known to pirate in the lesser trafficked parts of space. But Quarians were rarely stealthy, and they usually left survivors. These raiders didn't. There were no live witnesses to the raids. Ships victimized had their airlocks blown out and their computers hard wiped. Agri-colonies had every man, woman, and child executed. Even slaves. This wasn't from malice either. It was cold, and calculated, and brutal. Even the weapons were remarkable, some sort of eezo/plasma derivative that Hegemony engineers had never seen before. Aulgar suggested the Krogen on a hunch that a clan had decided to settle a new world out in the far reaches, but it had been laughed off. No one thought that Krogen could have the tech for plasma. Of course, until Aulgar did some digging around in some Salarian research articles, and found instances of plasma tech in use during the Krogan Rebellions. That shut them up right quick. Then the evidence of remarkable strength started rolling in. The pulverized ribs, dented bulkheads, all of it pointed to something big, strong, and committed. Krogen could be that, if led by someone charismatic enough… maybe he shouldn't be this excited about facing them…

In any case, Aulgar was likely in the Senior Captain's good graces, and that was something to be happy about, especially after spending weeks in the research lab. The lift dinged, and Aulgar straightened up. He slid his ID into the reader, sending his name and title into the viewscreens of the announcer guards outside. "Senior-Officer-of-the-Sensors is on deck!" Boomed the men in unison, drawing a series of half hearted affirmatives from his station. Aulgar walked through the minor clutter that preceded the general shift change, saluting the Captain on his way, who was gesturing angrily at some low-caste servant. The looks on the faces of the departing crew were exhausted, and generally disheartened. One could certainly understand the apprehension at a first combat after weeks of idle and safe work, but when even the young men looked dour, well... Perhaps the new recruits were getting more cowardly?

Under-Senior-Officer Horinthal looked like the Pillars had come to grant him eternity. "Thank the gods, the Senior Captain's not in a good mood today. You have my luck, sir."

Aulgar was caught by surprise as he made his way toward his station. "Wait, what? I just heard we'd found the enemy. Shouldn't he be oiling his whip?"

"You heard that from the midnight shift, didn't you? We just got new orders from Praised Admiral Lir'Thole, we're to wait for him to assume command before we move out-"

"And let the bastard take all the glory for himself!?" That comment turned a few heads in his command booth, but nobody said a word.

"I… Senior Officer it's…."

"Orders, that's what you were going to say. Wasn't it?" The Senior's blood was boiling. "I spent hours working on those statistics Horin, hours! And that slimey ditchfucker wants to take my hard work and-!"

"Comms Officer!" Oh shit.

"Senior Captain Miortvy!" Aulgar turned on a dime to meet the Senior Captain, now face to face. He turned his lower eyes down, as a sign of respect, but his uppers were still locked with his superior. A sign of defiance. The Captain looked surprised by the gesture, but then, so was Aulgar. His blood was hot, but he realized only now how much so.

"Officer, your temperament towards a superior is running dangerously close to treason, I suggest you apologize."

"With due respect Senior Captain, what has our Admiral done to earn that?" There was a bite to his voice that stung the air. A few of his own subordinates flinched at it. Miortvy was stunned, his eyes wide. Whether that was at his misappropriation of the Admiral's title, or the tone he used, didn't much matter.

"Watch your tongue, Comms Officer! The air you give is tainted…" He replied, testily. Though his voice said this, his eyes did not. He agreed, at least in part. But a superior's order was a superior's order. Aulgar was starting to disagree with that sentiment.

"The Admiral's order is tainted! What he's done is a disgrace! A disservice to our hard work, our months of tracking! All he has done is sit on Erszbat and enjoy the gardens and his Asari whores-"

"Enough! You are lucky I do not execute you now! Deck Guards take possession of this man-"

"You know it sir!" Aulgar's voice broke, as he fell to his knees. "He has dishonored you, Senior Captain. He has dishonored your command how many times since he took command of this squadron-" The deck guards arrived at that moment, taking him by his arms to his feet. "Are you not of the same blood?! Are you not of Kur'zen, just as he is?! He treats you like trash to be picked up by the slaves-"

"Stop." The Captain's voice was quiet, and wavering. But the whole deck still heard it. Aulgar shut his mouth quickly. He may have crossed the line in his desperate bid. "Tell me how you propose to make this right?" The Captain cast a look to the soldiers holding Aulgar, and they let him go without a word.

"Senior Captain… I… you command 40 ships, do you not?"

There was a pause, before he nodded, moving his head from its suspicious stance to one more open, if still apprehensive. Aulgar took this as the breakthrough he needed.

"These raids have been conducted by a careful foe, one afraid of showing itself to a proper task force. Though they may be ruthless, they are still weak. Our ships are some of the best the Batarian fleet can offer, we command 15 cruisers, 5 heavy cruisers, not counting the Ellerika. We can defeat these pirates all our own."

"How do you suggest we deal with the repercussions? Even if we are victorious, we must still plead our case to the High Command?"

"When has High Command ever argued with results? If anything, they'll praise you for taking initiative, securing unknown technologies! Defeating a menace that has killed thousands over the last few months. It could win you a promotion, a title! It could win all of us one, not to mention the fact that they'll be needing new families to resettle those colonies-"

"Okay, okay. Enough, Senior Officer." But Aulgar had made his point well enough already. The whole command deck had nodded when he mentioned the titles they could earn. And the land resettlement initiatives were more than well known to all, they were the dreams of all men in the Batarian Navy. Even their Captains. "Under-Senior-Officer of the Comms, have we transmitted the Praised Admiral's orders to the rest of the fleet?"

Aulgar's subordinate nodded to the affirmative, still staring wide-eyed at his direct superior.

"Good. No one outside of this deck is to know of the Admiral's orders. We shall say the message was lost in transmission. Senior-Officer of the Comms?"

Aulgar jumped. "Yes, sir?"

"You are hereby promoted to Senior-Officer of the Deck. You may take the XO's position at my side." That made Aulgar kneel on instinct. A commotion started among the crew (mostly among the flag officers), but it was quickly silenced with a look. The Captain bent down, to whisper in Aulgar's ear. "Do not mistake this for generosity, I expect you to take the fall should we fail." The Captain then stood, and returned to his seat. "Helm, make way to the enemy's last known coordinates, on the double."

* * *

The first thing she felt was the warm air blowing across her skin. The fresh scent of the Limiar trees, carried on the wind. Her fan was the second thing she felt. The cool air blew a stray strand of hair into her mouth, and she was up in a second, spitting and dragging the errant hair out.

Shit. She was awake now, wasn't she? Jessa sighed, and debated just flopping back down, into the refreshingly cool sheets of her bed. But it wasn't to be, was it? It was Friday. More importantly, it was her last day of school for a whole year while she went traipsing off into space. The sigh that followed was heavier, carrying with it six months of apprehension and long, boring nights. She felt for her phone, hiding somewhere in the cooling blankets, before giving up and gingerly removing herself from the bed.

"Hey, Alice? What's the time right now?" Jessa said into the empty room, hunting for her towel.

"It's 6:46 Jess, you've got about 40 minutes before the bus arrives, shall I get the shower going?"

"No no, why waste the water, right? Just make it hot please." Jessa answered, snatching her towel from a forlorn corner of her room. Alice was a VI, obviously. Her Dad wasn't exactly a billionaire, after all, and god knows they wouldn't really need one for a skiffer repair shop and a two bedroom apartment, but still, it was nice to have. Especially for showers. "Oh, and could you call my phone after I'm done? I kinda can't find it."

Alice hummed in the affirmative, and left Jessa to her shower. She didn't have much time to savour it, but she did do the usual maintenance. Applying dye to brighten her auburn hair, cleaning herself, practicing the flight warmup procedures Uncle Eser had drilled into her skull, the usual. It was a solemn affair, but one that deviated little from routine. Life was like that sometimes. Lacking the melodrama our brains craved on auspicious days. She was dressed quickly, a thin long sleeve to take the bite out of the morning winds, and shorts for the heat later in the day. Her backpack was mostly empty; it was the end of the year after all, and most of her day would be drifting on the edge of boring end-of-year parties and gorging on baklava and kik chips. Not her idea of spending today, but it wasn't like she got to choose.

She descended the flight of stairs, dreading the solemn talk her Dad was going to give about ends and beginnings, like he always did on days like this. But somehow, he didn't hear her coming down the creaky steps, or fumbling through the cupboards for the instant ramen she loved to eat for breakfast. "Er, Alice? Did Dad already leave for work?" She asked, as she grabbed an egg from the walk-in.

"He left while you were in the shower, there's a message if you want it?"

"Sure."

Alice hummed, before a recording played. I swear, if it's just his speech recorded I'm gonna freak out… "Hey hon-bun, sorry I couldn't be here, I have a busy day and I just found out Giancarlo forgot the new keycode, so I had to leave early! I figured you'd appreciate the time to yourself anyhow, but if not, my deepest apologies for assuming you wouldn't want to spend time with me. I'll be picking you up from school at the time you specified, so try not be late…" There was a long pause. "I… I hope you know that I'm really proud of you Jess. We'll talk this afternoon, love ya."

The pot was boiling, so she turned the stove down and went to retrieve her mealbox. "...love you too…"

The doorbell rang, and the little moment she was having got cut short. "What time… Who is it!" Alice made to answer her, but the mystery guest made it known.

"It's Yohan! I waited for your ass at the bus stop for like 10 minutes, lets go! I am not being late for Mr. Lian's breakfast dumplings girl!" Yohan..? Wait, it was already 7:30!?

"Alice!? Come on, I could've used a heads up?" Jessa gestured wildly at the VI's smart camera, as she raced to find where she'd left her backpack, and then out the door. Jessa had her hands up, already apologizing with her body language before her mouth did the same, as she started to speed walk towards the bus stop.

"You know I have a fucking phone dude, you could have called…?"

"Oh yeah? Check your phone then?" Yohan had a smug look on his face as Jessa dug it out of her shorts, and found it off.

"Oh, would you look at that? The phone you always leave off was characteristically off at this critical juncture as well-"

"You still didn't call though!" She shoved the phone into his face, showing off the conspicuous empty call history. Infuriatingly though, that look wasn't wiped off his dumb face.

"I simply calculated, using my gigabrain, that it would be off anyway, and thus, I would have won this argument anyway-" Jessa's loud, deep groan told him he'd officially won this one, so he toned it down. "Besides, I wanted you to enjoy a little workout for our last day together. You did love PE, thought you'd miss it."

"I took this job specifically to avoid it next year, Yohan."

"For old times sake then?"

Jessa decided that murdering him in view of the school bus would be in poor form, so she planned to do it tomorrow during the going away party. Luckily, the line to get in was still relatively long, so they hadn't been noticeably late. As they made their way to their usual spot on the bus, Jessa sank into her side of the booth, watching a rare cloud drift in the sky. Mercator was a hot planet, and even the small bits of civilization carved into the most hospitable places sapped the air of moisture, and the soul of spirit. At least, that was what she'd heard from travelers. She'd never been off-world, so there was little to compare it to. If anything, the heat was a comfort. And as she watched the neighbourhoods fly past her, watched the small skyscrapers of the inner city float in the background.

Yohan nudged Jessa, and laughed a little. "Starting to look like you might miss this place, Helmsman Jess." He wore his smile a little softer.

"Maybe…"

"Don't go all mopey teen on me, I'm not your dad, stop day-dreaming and-"

* * *

"-Start with 30 milligrams Hexaethyl Monocriton, and we can move on to 60 in a few hours…" A soft, undulating sound came from behind her, which Jessa recognized as her 'awake' alarm. The two attendants looked down, and smiled. "Ms. Shepard, good afternoon!" Said one of them. "We're just updating your drip, you were super dehydrated so we wanted to keep you in good shape." The male nurse explained from… somewhere… Jessa's eyes were still blurry from sleep, and she couldn't really tell who was speaking, the blob at her IV bag, or the blob on her other side.

A door opened, and a familiar voice spoke. "I was paged, is everything alright?"

"Your patient is awake." The male nurse answered, "Everything's looking nominal, so we'll move on to the next patient?"

"I… yes absolutely." Smiles waved them off, and went to sit at Jessa's side. "I'm glad to see you're finally awake. We think you had a panic attack of some kind, it triggered your abilities in a… surprising way." Jessa was starting to see the walls. Covered in dents and long, deep gouges where the paneling had ripped off. The delicate drawings of starships and interstellar vistas she'd labored over for weeks had been torn to shreds.

"I can see that." Jessa mumbled, still not looking at her supervisor.

"Despite this, uh, setback, we've been able to make some real discoveries surrounding your powers. It seems that when your amygdala was stimulated by your panic attack it was far more efficient at activating the neural pathways that lead to your lymph nodes than any other attempts thus far. I was planning on scheduling you for further testing under Neuronal Imaging, so I was hoping-"

"You don't have to ask me." Jessa said, blankly. What was funny was that under the ruined plexiglass walls, were the walls made of starship grade Titanium-B. Impenetrable to anything but a plasma torch, and that would still take hours. She could see the grading lines, telling her just how thick these were. Ten inches of Titanium-B could stop an asteroid the size of a golf ball traveling at 5% the speed of light. There were 30 inches between here and the outside world: a Halo, guarded 24-7 by a UNSC garrison specially created for this purpose. The doors themselves felt more solid than the walls, and the walls could stop a low-yield nuclear bomb.

Smiles only looked at her, puzzled. "Of course I do, Jessa. I care about what you feel comfortable with." Smiles was framed by the door, still smiling, as if he couldn't hear the shit he was spewing.

"You don't need my permission to do what you need to do, Smiles."

The doctor's eyes twitched, and the smile faded. "You know that's not true." But Jessa didn't. She said nothing, and Smiles took this as permission to continue. "In any case Jessa, this discovery could mean any number of things. We might be able to design some kind of implant to help you use your powers, find out how your powers are connected to your nervous system, this is the breakthrough we've been working towards for weeks-"

"I'm never getting out of here, am I?"

Smiles looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "What?"

"Nobody knows I'm alive, right?" Jessa was still looking at the drawings on the walls. The cargo haulers and destroyers, zooming off into the stars.

"Jessa come on-"

"I'm owed the truth, right?" She turned her head, and now Smiles was looking off into space. "Am I ever going home or-"

"In two months, official casualty numbers will come out of the UNSC War Assets Bureau. The WAB will publish a statement regarding the boarding of a civilian vessel, the UNV My Other Spaceship's a Car. They will report that, despite a valiant effort by the crew, all hands were lost in the attack. A flash clone of your body will be provided to your family, with artificial evidence of alien dissection. All members of the crew will be posthumously awarded the Civilian Medal of Valor for their enactment of the Cole Protocol, and the destruction of their slipspace engine. I'm sor-"

"Okay." Said Jessa. There weren't any tears. "I'll do your test."

* * *

"Welcome back to Citadel Nightly News, this is Maracele La'Nara with my co-host: Ziomatio. Our main story tonight: The mysterious movements of Turian forces in the 314 region have been explained! Turian whistleblowers from the Hierarchy Garrison Command have reported a violent first contact with an intelligent species from beyond Relay 314. With 314 only three jumps from the Citadel, our analysts are worried about potential blow-over from this-"

"Can you turn that shit off, please?" Laiel groaned. Councilor Sparatus was dealing with his headache rather poorly. His wife, Kienli, had recommended breeus tea, and if anything the smell had far worsened his mood. The last month, to be fair, had the Spirit's share of the blame. Damage control, furious negotiations with the Primarchs, and dealing with further yelling from Tevos was further accelerating his need to drink, and the result? Headaches, and waking up with hangovers two hours before a secure Council meeting. The Turian Hierarchy is the culmination of nearly 5000 thousand years of continuous civilization, and it's anti-hangover pills still took 2 hours to activate. He might as well have waited this damn thing out.

Currently, Laiel was being shuttled to Secure Strategic Center 1337, nearly a light year from the Citadel, and his cool bed, and his wife, and any kind of food that wasn't emergency paste. Tevos had called the meeting here a few days ahead of schedule, apparently something confidential had happened the day before, and forcing a postponement of his meeting with the Triumvirate of the Admiralty this afternoon. Given that the meeting was going to be about fleet redeployment to ensure a pacification of both the Turian Rogues (a distasteful concept in and of itself) and the Primitives, Sparatus wasn't looking forward to this conversation.

"We're approaching 1337, prepare your baggage, Councilor." The pilot announced. The shuttle was cramped, and for the most part utilitarian and shapeless. In reality, it was far and away the safest, fastest shuttle on the market, but that didn't stop the interior from feeling like it was designed for Hanar. Sparatus grabbed his day-bag, and moved his seat to the exit. His guards did the same. Sometimes, being one of the most important people in the galaxy was a remarkable chore. Actually, it usually was. Unlike working as the Primarch of Giantrami, most of the people you served weren't Turians, and generally hated you and your opinions… Turian politics were far more civil than most other races. Of course, Laiel had known this academically since he was a boy, being groomed for high level service in the Hierarchy. It was much different actually being your species' representative to the galaxy. Perhaps that was what had made his drinking habit steadily worsen over the last year. Perhaps it had been the mass mutiny of thousands of loyal Turians. Either or.

The shuttle shuttered once, and a solid clunk emanated through the ship. The pilot got on the intercom once more. "We have touch-down: we are currently pressure cycling… doors open in three… two… one." And then, they were on SSC 1337. The Center was built into a rogue asteroid, suitably sized and located near the Citadel, which has been hollowed out and fitted with state-of-the-art stealth technology. Officially, this place doesn't exist, and in the grand scheme of the galaxy, it never has. They were inside the primary hangar, a dull place of metal and silence, survived only by the hydroponics bay and irregular shipments of food. Laiel hated this place, but he felt a certain sadness for the poor sods assigned to live here for months on end, with nothing but the bare walls and silent rock to listen to. Liael shook his head, and started walking. The sooner this meeting was done, the sooner he could be back at the Citadel, and enjoying civilization, and not this cruel mockery of it.

As always, Liael was last to the conference room. He gave a quick salute to the honor guards of his fellow councilors, and gave himself a moment to collect his resolve, given that he was certainly about to walk into a hail of screams. He wasn't wrong, though for what may have been the first time in his career, it wasn't directed at him.

The ambassador they'd assigned to the situation, some renowned Asari diplomat, was sitting on the main screen, almost entirely catatonic in posture and facial expression. Perhaps she was trying to wait out the storm of questions being hurled at her, specifically from the Salarian Councilor, Olene; which was remarkable considering she hardly got out of her seat for her own children. Spartacus enjoyed the serenity of this moment for a long time, before he took his seat, and cleared his throat. Tevos, the Asari Councilor, wheeled on her heels and in a moment inhaled a shout and an admonishment, as she beheld her colleague. To Olene's credit, she noticed Laiel and kept on shouting at the diplomat, which Sparatus had to respect. Still, Sparatus had no idea what was going on, and someone needed to rectify that. "Excuse me, Councilors, Ambassador. Would someone mind explaining what has occurred?" Sparatus had some ideas, of course, but he wanted to focus on the comedy he was witnessing before he had to deal with the massive embarrassment to his nation.

Tevos said nothing, and just slinked into her chair, Olene looked like she wanted to say something, but did the same. "Did negotiations fall through? The diplomatic corps got turned away? I hope this isn't another Yahg incident-"

"The rogue battle group has surrendered." The ambassador interrupted.

"I'm sorry, what? I don't care if these primitives were the Protheans themselves, the battle group? A squadron maybe-"

"Admiral Desolas officially handed power to a Human Fleet. They called themselves the 'United Human Government.' These were not primitives, they were an interstellar nation."

"Admiral Desolas? I know the Arterius family, I met him in person when he was commissioned he… our contact in the fleet-"

"-Is wrong. Or late. When you get back in touch with High Command, they're going to tell you what I'm telling you, but with less information, and more platitudes to keep you from tattling to the council. They don't know I'm here yet, it's chaos in the fleet right now, whoever your contacts are probably don't even know I'm here, assuming they're not high ranking officers. So let me tell you the truth. Like I told your colleagues. And then we can get back to the business of salvaging something from this situation." And she did.

* * *

It was a quiet journey off into the void. More so than usual on the Ellerika. Perhaps it was the fact that, for the first time in years, the ship would be seeing combat. Or perhaps that over half of the flag staff were rookies who had never seen more than a pirate surrender after firing a warning shot. Was Aulgar afraid? Oh, absolutely. But anyone who wasn't at least a tiny bit worried for their eyes before a battle was a fool. These raiders, who ever they were, weren't going down without a fight. They weren't getting any sort of mercy from the Hegemony, so surrender was out of the question. This fight was to the death. Helm called out a de-warp alarm, and the deck tensed.

"DE-WARP IN THREE, TWO, ONE." And like that, the ship lurched slightly, and the nauseating feeling of a combat de-warp washed over him. "Sensors, status on enemy contact?" The Senior Captain ordered.

"Nothing on low ranges, we might need the sensor boat to take a look in nearby space. We shall not fail you Senior Captain."

"Good, Liaison with comms and have the Xexis load a wide bore sensor. Weapons, keep spooling..." There was a pause, and Aulgar realized it was his turn.

"Fight Deck, send an all call to- Flight Deck! Why are our fighter screens not fueled and loaded?"

"Sir? Our Late Senior Officer of the Deck-"

"Liked to have our flight wings sitting fucking pretty on the perch while we're walking into a combat zone? Rectify that, and set up eezo capable scouts, we might need them to start chasing leads." There was a meek nod, which told Aulgar that he needed to have a chat about why basic procedures weren't being followed by the last XO. "Comms, have fleet data route its way into the comms boat, security, start preparing anti-boarding measures-"

"My apologies for the interruption Senior Deck Officer, Senior Captain, sensors has a radiation trail! Looks like a leak from some sort of coolant line, before a hard cut… they'd have to be using a spooling eezo drive for something like that to show up, right?"

Vulgar took the mantle for that, as the Captain looked like he was reviewing something. "Cross reference with engineering, and get comms to confirm that with the rest of the fleet. We might get something from FTL sensors…"

The Captain motioned to him, and he stepped off his podium to confer. "Everything going well sir?"

"Personally, I think you're doing excellent. But I do believe we should let the bastards have their rest?"

Aulgar shrugged. It wasn't like being XO was new to him; and in his experience, honing your crew into what you wanted worked by far the best on a Batarian ship. But he acquiesced, no reason to spit in the master's face. "If it is your wish, Senior Captain. I would like to hear our strategy for the morning?"

"Same as any flagship, Deck Officer. Stay back and let the grunts take the hits." He chuckled a bit. "In all seriousness? We'll almost certainly have numerical and munitonal superiority, There won't be any super strategy, use our frigates and destroyers to trap them, let our heavy guns do the rest. Alright, comms looks like he's having a hissy fit, let's get back to it." The Captain stood, and waved his hand at the poor junior officer from Sensors waiting in the wings. "You have a report?"

"Yes Senior Captain, Sensorboat Xexis has picked something up using long range scans, minor gravitational lensing from a star cluster, it leads in the same direction as the radiation leaks, so it probably them."

The Captain eyed Aulgar warily. "It would take a large fleet of eezo ships to do something like that, wouldn't it?"

Vulgar dismissed that out of hand, though not without a tremble in his eyes. "Or they may have been burning a long time? Damaged eezo drives can make single ships look like war fleets, ask the Khar'shan home defense fleets."

"In any case, I think we ought to let Sciences take a look themselves, we might be able to get an accurate estimation on fleet estimated size from them."

"Getting Fleet Science to do anything more than estimating an asteroid's mass is gonna take days. We still have them weak, and we know pretty much where they are…. Helm! Can you work out an estimated location on these ships from a gravitational lensing?"

Helm took a second to respond. "Uh, if you gave us a couple minutes, Sir?"

Aulgar grinned. "We could be on them now, Senior Captain."

The Captain just sighed. "Fine. Helm, that's your task! Junior officer? You have comms relay helm's nav data to the rest of the fleet. And get your scout fighters back in line, flight deck, we won't be doing any more scouting for quite some time."

It was a short wait for the coordinates to be set. Even shorter for the transition into warp. The average Batarian State Engineering Alephy Eezo Core could propel a ship at approximately 5000 times the speed of light. Given that these coordinates were less than a 300 billion kilometers away, that journey took about 3 minutes. It took less than 3 seconds for alarms to start blaring across the fleet as they de-warped.

"Status Sensors!" The Captain belted.

"Four unidentified vessels in holding around a small asteroid-... wait… have our sensor boat verify, is that a ship?"

"Look at those things, they look like art pieces that got thrown in an Arc Reactor." Another officer chuckled

The Captain silenced him with a glare. "Display on tac-map!" A display popped up on the main screen. The forty ships of their task force appeared, arrayed against four… super dreadnaughts… and…. What? Super Dreadnought just means greater than 1200 meters… Aulgar opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Weapons took his words for him. "The VI calls that big thing a ship?! It's 5000 meters long!"

Sensors followed up. "I'm not detecting an eezo drive! What the fuck did we just find-"

"I've got a massive energy build-up on all four escorts!" Escorts? Those things could be flagships on their own right! They're 1500 meters long-p

Suddenly, Aulgar realized he was in command. "Launch fighters now! Shields you're up, take on 110% capacity till we know what we're facing-"

"Enemy projectile launched, evasive actions!" Screamed the Captain. G-forces suddenly hurled Aulgar into his podium's guardrail, and nearly launched him over.

"What the hell are they shooting at us!"

"Plasma?! Shit XO, you were right!" Aulgar didn't know whether or not he should enjoy that. "Pillar's Grace, I just lost IFF on Kilikura. It went straight through her shields!"

That made the deck erupt. Chatter overpowered the Senior as many panicked voices started screaming all at once. This was, historically, the XO's job. "CHAIN OF COMMAND! Maintain order soldiers! Senior Captain, orders?"

The Captain looked, well, not great. "Senior Officer of the Deck, you have bridge command, I need to coordinate forces in the Tactical bay."

Oh. Wait, did that mean? Shit. "I'll await tactical direction sir." Aulgar moved quickly to the command podium, and found that he had nothing to say. There was little information, little data to pull from, and nothing in the way of strategy in dealing with an enemy that completely bypassed shields. Aulgar was lost, and he really needed to not be. "Shields, redirect 50% power to weapons, I want to assist the Royarch and Mardik in their pummeling of target A1-"

"Target A3 just launched a-" The ship thundered, and this time, Aulgar couldn't stay in his seat. He was hurled hard into the railing, and tumbled off of it, and the ground below. Circuits sparked, and the inertial dampers groaned angrily. They were spinning.

"Helm! Get us right side up! Security, give me a hull integrity report!"

"Sir! Feeds are coming in, but we just lost 15 lower decks to that fucker! I got 300 missing IDs, and 190 that need help!"

Organize that response! Comms, get me tactical advise from the Captain right fucking now, I need to know where to point these guns-"

"He's dead, XO!" Security interrupted.

"What!? Where is he?" Right, tactical. Near the lower decks, all of which were blasted to pieces by a fucking PLASMA round. Aulgar sighed, "Belay the explanation. I want tactical authority right now! And Helm! Why the fuck are we still spinning!" Helm said nothing, and slowly the rotation started to lessen. It'd need to do for now. Several other flag officers objected to a second promotion, but it wasn't really up for debate, given that the whole fleet was being tossed to shit, and they were looking to the Flag Ship. The tac-map showed 3 dead allies, and by the look on Weapon's face, their mass accelerators were doing Neul Shit. "I need that fucking commision boys, or this fleet is done!" Someone said 'Aye', and a chorus followed that worked well enough for him. "Okay, good. Patch me into the Tactical network, Comms. We need to kick these fuckers."

The plan was simple. Use the five heavy cruisers as battleships, and have them pummel the enemy shields until something slipped through and they stopped shooting back. Use the lighter ships as cover/bait, and try not to get hit. Easier said than done. Wrangling the five ships of the line from their positions far away at the back was not easy, and telling them to put all power into their weapons, ignoring their shields, was even more pissy. But, after one of the bulbous enemy craft blasted a hole straight through the side of a Light Cruiser, the direness of the situation became steadily obvious.

"Comms! Targeting A1, slave firing line ships to my order! Let's blast that coward!" The massive clunk of the guns, mercifully spared by the plasma round, began to hum across the ship, as he watched the charging reticle across five ships slowly reach it's zenith…

"FIRE!" The Ellerika shuddered, and took evasive action as another plasma round attempted to break her hull. Suddenly, the four enemy escorts, mostly concerned with harassing the fighter screens and taking pot shots at frigates, became very active in their attempts to rip a hole in his firing line's superstructure.

"Shots inflicted estimated 10% damage to enemy shields! We need more firepower!"

Aulgar agreed. "Bombers! Flight Deck where are they!"

"I'm coordinating the wings now, where are they going?"

"To fuck that ship's shields up, have your fighters harass enemy's coming to support. Are we charged?!"

"Yes sir!"

"FIRE!" And the ship groaned under the power of the blast.

19% Damage.

A ship was lost.

Aulgar directed Frigate torpedoes at another target, hoping to start weakening their shields too.

"FIRE!" And shudder.

28% estimated damage.

A bomber squadron launched her payload, shattering the shields.

"Light Cruisers, take it down!"

An adjustment to the strategy. They needed to start breaking the next target.

"FIRE!" Shudder.

Number.

Crash.

Thunder.

The first ship stripped of shields exploded in a messy haze. A bomber squadron was consumed by the explosion. He couldn't think about that.

The thing they were escorting moved slowly, and didn't fire back. He ordered his ships to use it as cover. To angle themselves behind it's hull, to cloud their movements behind it's leaking coolant.

Another super dreadnought dead. Her innards gutted by six frigates simultaneously. Crash.

Thunder.

His fleet was like a storm. His lasers fought back against the stemming tide of fighters. Two frigates made a pass on the enemy, raking her shields with GUARDIAN arrays. The shields were gone in seconds, letting his firing line tear the enemy in two.

The last escort fought hard, but 30 ships could beat even a dreadnought. And they did so without fanfare. And like that, the battle was over. Aulgar sat down, not at the podium, but on the ground. "Sensors, what is the… whatever that ship is, where is it going?

"I'm checking estimated trajectories now… nothing on my equipment. Is the sensor boat still active?"

Aulgar checked the nav-map, and saw it still pinging. "Liaison with them comms, and start organizing for a patrol back, we need-"

"Wait, wait, I'm getting something. Detecting energy readings and… mass…"

"What? A Rogue Planet? Sensors?"

Sensors said nothing, and only pasted an image from the sensors boat. Aulgar wanted to admonish the man for posting to the board without authorization, but as the Officer upped saturation, Aulgar fell silent, eyes wide. In the depths of empty space, there before them laid a Ring.

A/N: The Great Journey Awaits.

EDIT

The first part of this note is in regards to the edits I've made to the chapter above, and will be spoiling future parts of the story to appease the reviews that seem to not enjoy the victory of the Batarians in this chapter. If you don't want SPOILERS, DO NOT KEEP READING TILL THE LINEBREAK!

Okay then. The Covenant in this chapter are the Covenant Remnant, not the Swords of Sanghelios (SOS) or any Covvie Successor States. As I've hinted at in chapters previous, the Covenant Remnants are a shadow of a shadow of their former selves, after their many defeats against the UHG and the SOS. These ships here are in remarkably poor shape, as evidenced by a CAS carrier leaking coolant, and by Covenant forces raiding heretics for supplies, something no self-respecting Covvie would do unless it meant the end of their religion. In addition to the fact that the Batarians had a 10-to-1 advantage, and that these ships were mere destroyers (sorry about the confusion on that front, it's been fixed), it seems reasonable to me that the Batarians could win with significant casualties. Because, it should be noted, losing a quarter of your forces in a battle is not good when you outnumber them by a factor of ten.

Please rest assured in the future that I do have a plan, and a justification, for the vast majority of what I write, and that it will be explained in due time (though I admit that it may be a long time). Additionally, insulting my intelligence and threatening my life over fanfiction is silly, and although it is a great motivator to write edits and author's notes, it also is sorta mean, so please don't?

* * *

In other news though, it has officially been one year since I posted this story, and to celebrate, I'll be doing a little audience participation! Well, technically. In a few chapters, I'll be in need of a piece of music that, let's just say, will need to represent humanity. It will be an orchestra piece, and it will be played for some ambassadors to the UHG.

I'd love to hear your suggestions on a piece! Really, anything that encapsulates humanity or the human spirit, or maybe just something moving and powerful. I don't know! I will be gathering any suggestions that I find compelling, and will then create a poll for you guys to vote on your favorite in the next update! Yes, this means that if you submit a meme suggestion, I reserve the right to pass on it.

Feel free to submit music to me via my PMs, or through the Reviews section! Also, don't forget to leave a review, even if you don't have a song suggestion! Reviews keep the pencil sharp!

-Turtle


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